Ten Seconds With a City Kid on His Bicycle

Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash

It’s this past weekend, and I’m in downtown Los Angeles for a convening of twenty-five hundred California democrats.

As I make my way on foot across the city and over to the convention hall, I come to a small intersection and wait. Down half a block across the way, a clump of maybe two dozen kids are piling out of the LA Metro with bicycles that are coated entirely in black from the frames, to the seats, to the handlebars, and the fat tires. Clearly a thing.

When it’s safe to cross, I walk toward the kids and they come up the sidewalk toward me, and together we wait to cross a much busier street. The light turns and they spring forth and wind their way down the street, riding in the middle of the road as if it is never used by cars. Some do wheelies. Some circle back to bring up those in the rear. Soon they are all gone, and my curiosity wanes as the last one fades from view.

Seven minutes later, I arrive at the convention hall where these cyclists ride back and forth in the huge parking lot. I like to engage youth when I see them, so I make eye contact with one who looks to be about fourteen.

“Cool bikes,” I say with a nod. He smiles.

“You a group?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you call yourselves?”

He moves his eyes up and to the side in thought then lands his eyes on me with a sheepish smile. “I don’t even know.”

I smile back and throw my hand up in goodbye.

The nameless group goes about their cycling fun. I walk into the convention hall, reminded of my younger years when there was such pleasure in just being with my crew somewhere, just doing what we do, even if we weren’t quite sure what it was, knowing deep within our DNA that the young play a role in society that is transgressive, necessary, and fun. That it’s how we become.

Knowing also that interactions like these can go wrong, that an elder can dismiss, scoff, or demean, I hope this kid knows that I like what he’s up to. Maybe he needs that from somebody. And today, he got it from me.

And does he know he helped me, too? That by engaging me instead of dismissing me he made me feel seen at an age and stage of life when I am becoming less visible before my very eyes.

It was a ten second interaction that I’d wager made us both feel that who we are and what we’re up to matters.

_____

Comment below with: 1) How do you interact with the youth around you? 2) When was the last time a stranger made you feel a little more seen? 3) When was the last time you went out of your way to “see” someone else?

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