Yesterday I was taking Ricki to school, and we were running a bit late. However, IF she would hasten her steps, she could get there in time. The problem was that I knew very well that the likelihood of her making a dash towards the school was nil. As I was urging her to hurry, we came to a broken place in the sidewalk. The pavement had been somewhat torn up, and the area was uncrossable. However, there were two ways around: on the left was a thin crooked stretch, and on the right one could easily pass. I went right and urged Ricki to do the same. Ricki balked, saying something I didn’t catch. Only after a minute of imploring her to hurry did I get her to cross, although she choose the left side. I was peeved that she had balked, and that she had gone on the harder (and thus slower) side. She had effectively made herself a bit later. Just after I crossed her the last street, and started to wave goodbye, she came to a complete standstill. I finally realized that she would resume her steps to school if I would listen. (“G-d knows what she wants NOW?!”)
“What happened to the sidewalk?” she queried.
I was so ashamed of myself. I had been so intent on where I was going, that I had forgotten to listen. I so much want Ricki to be inquisitive, and here when she had been asking me something, I was so rushed that I was shooing her into silence. So I answered; she waved goodbye, turned, and ran for school.
How often do we not notice the little things in life? The good, the bad, the everyday things—how often do we trample them in our rush to accomplish our tasks? And how often do we ignore and tread on the feelings of our loved ones, simply because we were too focused on something else? I pray that I will do better next time.