I lost my good heart and found it again at the park.

It's far too easy to let the frustrations of living here run away with your good heart. The languid chaos of daily life, the injustice and inconvenience make it easy to neglect the truth. Traffic snarls at two PM on a Saturday, a  house with three Roles Rocyces in the garage, or that abiding sense that you've been taken advantage of are enough to stir up disheartenment.
It's easy to let your good heart be gone.

But all you need, really, is a trip to the park where a group of seven year-olds befriend your toddler, and despite  a language barrier they learn each other's names and ages, and then small arms reach behind your girl's waist and hoist her up onto the swings, and when they see she's had enough, they help her down, and guide her up the play structure, shouting, watch out! The baby wants to pass! and lead her over the bridge, and help her down the slide. And when she falls, a girl bends over and brushes off her legs, and a boy crouches down, looks into her eyes, and pats her tenderly on the cheek.
That's all you need, really, to realign your good heart and be reminded that this is a good place where the people are kind, and notwithstanding the traffic and wealth and poverty, people will always show tenderness to a child. 




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