I was sitting on the balcony this morning, having breakfast.
The tattooed runner took a lap past my balcony. A twenty-something girl walked out of the apartment building across the street, disheveled after a late Saturday night. The elderly gentleman with the middle-aged, handicapped son slowly made his way down the sidewalk, and several of the regular dog walking neighbors strolled past carrying leashes and poop bags.
As I was finishing breakfast, a car pulled up out front just before nine o’clock. Behind the wheel was an attractive woman wearing a floral top. From my angle, I could see her lush hip hop thighs beneath the steering column.
I decided to clean up slowly so I could bird dog this stranger visiting the Divorced Dad District.
Two minutes after nine, a little girl emerged from the building wearing pink shoes, a backpack, and a big smile. The car door opened, and the hot mommy ran toward her with open arms. The man who escorted what appeared to be his daughter out to the car was melancholy and frigid.
He stopped halfway between his front door and the mother’s car. I assumed he had spent the weekend with his baby girl during his visitation time.
Suddenly, the hot mom was no longer appealing, and the awkward man handing over the child looked painfully familiar. I know this exchange too well. Both as the child and as the father.
The one who loses on mornings like this is the little girl, forced to endure a difficult moment she did nothing to create.
As the car pulled away, clouds covered the sun and darkness fell over the DDD. The wind picked up, and I felt cold. Between pouring coffee and sopping up my eggs with toast, God sent me a reminder that life is difficult for all of us.
The signs are there. They may not solve the mysteries of our faith, but sometimes they help us recognize ourselves in the lives of strangers.
