It's 7:30 PM on Sunday, and I'm just arriving home. I passed our park, which was loaded with people. There were parents and kids, and the kids were small and medium-sized. Some of them had had it for the day, and others were still playing on swings and climbing toys. Still others were locked in little cabals, plotting who knows what.
And the ballers. It looked like dozens of them. I would estimate mid-teens to early 20s. There were too many for five-man teams. And more teams than could occupy a basketball court at one time. I imagined a round robin. Everyone appeared to be having fun. They were getting in last licks before sundown, packing-up time.
School just ended this past Thursday, so maybe this is a daily summer schedule. Most of the kids looked unfamiliar to me, and it looked like there were lots of cars filling the perimeter of the park. Most likely, these are our guests. Maybe North Miami, maybe the Shores. Who knows whence they come to us? But they're here, and they seem to be having a very good time.
I suppose I could be accused of failing to recognize some sort of problem. There was no parking left, you had to drive extra slowly and carefully, and there was more noise than there usually is, though not disturbingly so. I don't live next to the park. Not even within a block or two. But I have to say, sights like this are purely pleasing. They are delightful. They are heart-warming. Trite, but true. They appeal to my sense of pride in our neighborhood, and to my tendency to want to share. I especially like to share good fortune, and this neighborhood, with its comfortable, easy way and its accessibility, is wonderfully good fortune. I'm glad our guests like us. I hope they always find us to be the place they'd like to be. As Roxy Ross always used to say, we're "the better place to be." So it seems, and we're not the only ones who know it.
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