High Five
My neighborhood is a gritty, messy mix of apartment dwellers. The upstairs neighbors are Russian immigrants probably in their mid-50's who crowd into a 2-bedroom apartment with 2 or 3 of their adult children. The neighbors across the parking lot have nearly the same story. They used to live in a large house but they lost their business then lost their house. So the couple now live in a 3-bedroom apartment with one adult son in a wheelchair and 2 other sons. Every morning the fathers/husbands of these households greet me with enthusiasm. They high five my 2-year old and call him "boss." I have numerous reasons to think the lives of both of these men are difficult and perhaps disappointing. And yet each morning they teach my son that the world greets you with a smile, a joke, and an open hand.
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