Yes, this little kid in the yellow shirt is me.
If I was a kindergartner again, I would not take it for granted.
After a long day of gym class, recess, and nap time, I would laugh and play games with my brother on the bus ride home from school. And, when I got off the bus, I would run with my little backpack on and lunch box in my hand and I would jump into my mom’s arms and give her a hug.
I would be living life.
Instead, I am a second-semester senior in college taking 17 credits worth of classes.
This past Wednesday was supposed to be just another Wednesday of going through the motions. Wake up, do some school work, go to class, eat lunch, go home, go to class again, eat dinner, read a book, watch TV, go to bed. A pretty standard day in the life of a college student.
But as I walked home from campus after eating lunch, my standard Wednesday routine changed.
I was walking down Rosemary St., just two minutes from Pritchard Ave., and stopped at the intersection between Rosemary and Columbia. As I waited for the little, digital white walking-man symbol to pop up before crossing the road, I saw my roommate, Daniel, just 200 meters away, crossing from Pritchard onto Rosemary.
Though we have lived together for the past 2.5 years and are best friends, our weekdays from sunrise to sunset rarely align. We have very different sleep schedules, eat meals at different times, take classes in different departments, and are involved in different clubs. Needless to say, we rarely see each other on or near campus. But, at noon on this normal Wednesday, I caught Daniel walking to class. Looking at his phone, he walked with his little strut that only close friends can recognize, but he did not see me. As he came within 100 meters of me, he peeked his head up from his phone for just a moment, but I wasn’t sure if he saw me.
The little walking-man symbol finally popped up, opening up a crosswalk in the direction of Daniel. It was go-time.
Backpack held close, straps zipped tight, I took my phone and wallet out of the pockets of my joggers and secured them tightly in my hands. And I ran. I ran fast. I ran across the intersection. I ran past 15 cars of people that had been waiting at the red light. I ran and kept running even when Daniel finally picked his head up when I was 50 meters out. That’s when he started running towards me. Computer, textbook, notebook, agenda book, water bottle all sloshed up and down inside my grassy green backpack as I picked up the pace. Both of us reached full-speed, and as we approached each other, just 8 meters apart, we leapt into the air like Spider Man jumping from building to building and flew past each other.
We stopped, turned around, and dapped each other up. I said, “What’s up bro. Have a great day in class.” We smiled, laughed, and kept walking to our destinations.
To the 15+ bystanders in their cars, we probably looked like some strange and incredibly goofy boys. But, who cares?
As goofy, silly, and even stupid as it sounds, that moment of running towards Daniel is memorable. That routine Wednesday felt just a little bit different.
Maybe I just felt like a kindergartner again.
Maybe we should all just be kindergartners.
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