On the last Saturday in August, we threw a big hurrah to end the summer break with our neighbors. And, thanks to many of you, we gave out backpacks full of supplies to help kids prepare for a new school year.
During the event, I found myself at the end of our block managing the entrance to a bouncy house. At one point, there was a group of six kids happily bouncing, a line of 12 kids not so patiently waiting in anticipation and my co-bouncy house bouncer watching the timer for the end of four minutes. As their time expired we helped them out and my son, who was one of the six, exited. He informed me that he wanted to go talk to his mama. I looked down the and block saw her carrying our 1-year-old in a front pack, happily bobbing around. So I told my son where she was, and I watch as he wandered down Potter Street through so many of our neighbors and friends all enjoying this celebration of the end of summer and the start of a new school year. That moment reminds me of how fortunate I am to live here in this community surrounded by neighbors where I can watch my son stroll down the street to find his mama. I don’t have to worry as he disappears into the crowd. This is our neighborhood. This is his community.
Not the opioid epidemic created by the pharmaceutical industry.
Not the trash lying on streets because of an underfunded Public Works Department.
Not the system of oppression and poverty that’s existence is denied by our current administration.
Instead it is six teenagers jumping and laughing in a bounce house like they were seven years old.
A neighborhood block party with dancing, music, and celebration.
Students receiving book bags that give their parents one less thing to worry about.
A community joining together to welcome in the new season.