Radio Flyers, Dogs, and Pack Mules

Trudie and I went for a walk when I got home from work this evening. It seemed like it was 100 degrees but she was excited when I said "walk". Mostly I spell the word "walk" around her. (Dog owners will understand this.)

I used to think summer in Alabama was the hottest and most humid place in the world. Indeed it may be the the hottest and most humid place in the United States. I've lived in Florida and Alabama is hotter. In Florida you can sweat with anticipation. There's always a beach nearby somewhere. Not so in Alabama. But Hanoi is like summer in Alabama times 3. I was there in June. My buddy Chad and I drank iced coffee almost every day in a little roadside shop (they're all roadside shops on the streets of Hanoi) and we were dripping. I've heard people talk about Venezuela and parts of Mexico and how they shower and leave the hotel and they're sweating before they walk 25 feet. It's like that in Vietnam. You never feel, let's see.... how can I put this.... fresh. You never feel fresh and clean.

So I'm walking along tonight and I see a young dad from my neighborhood pulling his son in a little Radio Flyer wagon. I haven't seen one of those in years. The picture would've been Norman Rockwellian if it hadn't been for the cell phone. I know you've seen it. Mom pushing a stroller or dad in the yard with the kids and all the while they're on a telephone call. This cannot count for quality time. I mean, it's probably like negative quality time. For every 1/2 hour you spend with the kids on a cell phone you have to make it up double. Only for that make up hour you must give your children 100% of your undivided attention. No cell, no smart phone downloading email and no texting. It crossed my mind that in this case dad could have just hooked up a pack mule or an obedient dog to the wagon and accomplished the same result. Oh.... except dad wouldn't have gotten his exercise. Maybe he was really out there for exercise.

Perhaps I'm being a little harsh. I looked at the kid. He was playing with something in the wagon. He was otherwise occupied. He was probably only 2 years old and I wondered if he knew Dad was otherwise occupied. I wonder if he thought it'd be cool to have a mule or a dog pulling his little wagon.

Trudie and I walked our normal route. It's neat how a dog knows when to turn. They are truly creatures of habit. We turned on 43rd Street and walked up to 7th Avenue. Another left and there's dad and son again. He's still on the telephone. This time I hollered to him, "Dude, that's your son in the wagon and he's going to remember how you didn't pay any attention to him! How you couldn't finish work long enough to pull his Radio Flyer and talk with him about his day. He may have seen monsters in his closet and under his bed and you don't even know it! He may want to share his amazement with you about a caterpillar or a bird he saw singing outside his window. Hang up the phone neighbor! You're missing it."

Except I didn't really say that. I walked on and waved at them thinking about wagons, dogs and pack mules.