Boys on Bikes

Well, I feel a tad bit bad about grumbling so much about the pregnancy issue. As I was going through stuff to put in the recycling bin, I found an old Curves magazine that was handed to me at a parade. I read a little story in it that I enjoyed so I thought I'd share to try and redeem myself. The lesson is something I would like to try to be better at.

They surged into the convenient store parking lot on their dirt bikes, skidded to a stop behind me, sending a swirl of dried leaves and dust into the crisp autumn air. They were about 14, and aggressively scruffy in both their manner and their dress. It was clear that they were outcasts, and proud of it.
I glanced over at them as I screwed the valve cover cap back on my tire. My car had been wandering a bit on the road, and I had vowed to get the pressure exactly right to see if that would correct the problem.
I had just finished checking the first tire when the two boys had ridden up. Now they were standing next to the convenient store wall, waiting quietly, if a bit impatiently, for me to finish my tires so they could add air to theirs.
The mild irritation of someone being hurried against his will rose up in me. I wanted to take my time--add air, retest the pressure, remove air if necessary--without feeling rushed. But the presence of the two boys pressured me. I wished they would go away.
I looked at one of them. He had long, unwashed hair hanging down to his shoulders and baggy gangster pants riding low on his hips. I was about to give him a hard, adult stare to let him know that I would not be rushed, when a memory of a community youth forum the year before came into my mind.
Civic leaders had convened a gathering of local youth to talk about the needs of the young people in our community. It had soon developed into a series of short comments by the teenagers and long answers by the adults as to how the young people should behave if they wanted to earn respect in the community. I had felt ashamed at the way the adults had commandeered the meeting without even realizing it, and had done my best to listen closely to the concerns of the young people when they spoke.
One young girl with pins in her face and dyed black hair--a likely peer to these boys--made a comment that I had never forgotten. "No one ever says 'hi' to us," she said. "Adults walk past us like we're not there."
"Or wish we weren't," someone else chimed up.
I looked at the boys waiting with their dented bikes. I knew I had been wishing they weren't there.
"Hey guys," I said. "You need to use the tire gauge? My tires can wait."
The boy with the long hair looked startled. "Yeah, that would be great," he said. I handed him the gauge and he quickly and expertly assessed and filled his tires, then handed it back to me.
"Thank you, sir," he said. His politeness was both delightful and unanticipated.
"You're very welcome," I said. "I hope you have a good ride."
The boys broke into wide grins and hopped on their bikes.
As they churned around the corner, the long-haired boy turned toward me and saluted. The other boy followed suit. I returned their gesture with a salute of my own and went back to checking my tires.
It had been a good unexpected moment of human contact. I hoped my young friends had felt the same. -Kent Nerburn