Something normal happened today. Scout and I discovered a park across town. (I jog, she bikes, and we make a lot of tracks, discover a lot of parks.)
A solo-flying kid, a seven-ish black girl named Myra, sidled up to us on the swings and stuck close to us as we migrated to the sandbox and the monkey bars and back, hoping to catch on with us.
This sort of thing happens at least half the time we go to a park.
Since the playground is Scout's domain, I let her decide what she wants to do in such cases.
Sometimes Scout politely ignores the child. This is okay with me. It is not our responsibility to give whatever we have to the first person who shows up in need.
But I was happy today when Scout played with Myra, whose older brother, I discovered only through careful observation, was playing basketball a hundred yards away.
We left Myra with a playground full of "babies," she complained.
On the run-ride home I was cross with Scout for not taking care to remember Myra's name.
But I think I was really just mad that with so many Scouts in this city, we can't seem to get all the Myras taken care of.