Knee Caps

When I was a kid in Brooklyn, I walked to school,  a route of about ten blocks. It involved crossing Ocean Parkway, an impressively wide boulevard with a median in between lined with leafy trees and benches.  Ocean Parkway was aptly named, since getting from one side to another was a little bit like going across a great sea, but a stalwart crossing guard stood ready to escort us and ensure our safety.  

Her name was Jeannette, and she had a French accent, and I wish I had been curious enough to ask her about her life, but she had a way of making me think that I was the interesting one.  She always asked me about my day, and looked at my work, and seemed pleased and proud when I'd done well.  Seeing Jeannette at Ocean Parkway was a highlight of my day.

One afternoon I showed her a drawing I'd done in class, a crayon and pencil rendition of what I'd intended to be a circus fat lady wearing a short red dance skirt.

"A fat lady?" said Jeannette. "Zees is no fat lady. Not skinny, no, but she is strong, not fat. Maybe she is the circus tightrope walker lady, eh?"

I was disappointed that my drawing hadn't conveyed what I'd envisioned, but Jeannette thought it was a very worthy effort. She pointed to the the circus lady's knees, which I had represented with circular black swirls.

"Ah," she said, "you even gave her knee caps...such a fine detail. It shows you have an eye. You notice things. You are a very smart girl."

Jeannette stood tall in her wool navy coat and white gloves, a white reflective band across her chest. I admired her, and her opinion mattered...so much so that more than fifty years later, here I am recalling her comments about my pencil rendering of knee caps and what it implied about my talent and intelligence.

I guess it's because Jeannette did so much more than get me safely across Ocean Parkway. She encouraged me and made me feel valued. She took her job seriously and added a whole new dimension to it. And when she asked me one day what I'd like to be when I grew up, I didn't hesitate:

"A crossing guard."

"Oh, my goodness, no," she said, appalled. "You have to dream much, much better than zees."

In time I understood what she meant.

And I am writing this to honor and thank not just Jeannette but all who bring heart and dignity to what might seem a trivial sort of job, and as a reminder that even small, routine encounters can touch someone deeply, and in a distant time and place they are remembered.

Jeannette gave me a little nudge and a little kindness, that's all...and helped me across the first of many seas. I eventually learned to dream better.(Yes, she also signed my sixth grade autograph book....in French.)