The sun was asleep as the moon began to retire beneath the horizon at 5:15am. Streets were empty with the exception of a few cars at red lights. I yawned and thought about the dreaded workout I was about to face and mentally listed the things urging to be completed.
I was startled as I saw a Hispanic man in light colored jeans and a flannel work shirt sprint across the intersection as he held onto his baseball cap with his right hand held to his head. He waved his left arm wildly and yelled out words I couldn’t hear as I sat in my black leather seat with my car windows rolled up.
He chased his bus frantically trying to stop the driver from pulling away.
I watched the bus brake lights come on as the man in the flannel work shirt and light jeans jumped through the double doors. The light turned green and we each pulled away driving in opposite directions.
My mind flashed back to watching my dad chase his bus on mornings we made him late because of extra kisses, extra coffee sips, or extra stories. He trekked into downtown every morning to work for his family. A family who didn’t have a car. A family who didn’t own a home. A family who lived on hopes, dreams, and divine aspirations.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and silently prayed for the man who chased his bus. I prayed for his family who hopefully gave him extra kisses, extra coffee, and extra stories as he promised them a hope of a better life. I sat in my black leather seat with rolled up car windows and asked God to never let me forget.
God, never let me forget the moments when we held onto the belief that you were our faster than buses, sweeter than kisses, and more extraordinary than stories told by fathers. Amen.
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