The Walk to School

My son is eight and has decided he's old enough to walk to school by himself. It's four blocks. I've agreed, on the condition that I follow about half a block behind "like a spy."

He hasn't noticed me once. He walks with his hands in his pockets, whistling, like a tiny businessman. He says good morning to the crossing guard. He stops to pet the same orange cat on the same porch every single day. He jumps over the same crack in the sidewalk.

Once, a little girl dropped her lunchbox, and he picked it up for her without being asked. Another time, he helped an older man with his groceries, carrying one bag all the way to his door.

I've learned more about who my son is from following him to school than from anything he's ever told me. He's kind. He's curious. He's going to be just fine.