The Day I Learned to Cross the Street

Crossing the street is a tricky business. There are so many aspects that go into the process. I could easily make this a metaphor for hard decisions in life or changes that everyone has to deal with, but I am not going to. This is legitimately about the day I learned to cross the street.

When I was younger I lived in a blue house on the corner of the street. The street dead ended at another street. I guess you could call it ending at a “T”. Yes, yes, that is what you call it.

One day, my mother and I were walking to the park. There were so many streets that had to be crossed. Not the one with the “T”, though. My mom taught me to look both ways. You look right then left, or was it left then right then left again? Oh my goodness. Well, perhaps this is why I constantly get run over by cars and bicycles. Never buses, no matter how much (on days I had exams) I hoped they would so I wouldn’t have to deal with whatever it was that I thought was going to ruin my life at that time. The buses never hit me, but then again, my life has yet to be ruined. *Knock on Wood*

So on this wonderful day, the day I learned to cross the street, my mother held my hand and we looked both ways, one of the ways twice, and walked out, one foot in front of the other. When crossing the street, holding hands is important. Mostly this is done when you’re young, the holding hands part. I personally feel that holding hands is important at any age. I have yet to find the person who wants to hold my hand while I’m crossing the street. And the many people who I’ve tried to hold hands with while crossing a particularly busy street (you know, I can handle the small, less traffic-filled streets okay, but not the big streets so much) always wriggle free. It’s a little hurtful, if I’m being honest.

What I guess I’m saying is that crossing the street triggered my need for companionship. Way to go, mom

Reason #39 why I need a man in my life: So I can have someone hold my hand when I cross the street.