One cold morning I had to walk to school.  I had to walk to school quite often.  The school was a short distance from our house as the crow flies, but I couldn’t take the shortest route to school because that particular intersection didn’t have a crossing guard.  There were three streets to cross, only one of them was busy and “dangerous” and I was not allowed to cross that one without the crossing guard.

I have no idea what his name was, but the crossing guard was a big burly man with fuzzy dark hair and a mustache.  He wore the same gray plaid jacket underneath his orange vest.  I don’t remember if he ever said anything to us kids as he led us back and forth across the street.  I can still picture his face, but my guess is he’s not around anymore. 

On this particular cold morning, I arrived at the busy intersection and was dismayed to see that the crossing guard was no where to be seen.  I was terrified.  What if he didn’t show up?  What if I was stuck on that side of the street all day?  I would get in trouble for not getting to school on time.  I would miss Ms. Dienstman singing “Miss Lucy Had A Baby” around the piano. 

Then I noticed the donut shop across the street.  A man sat near the window, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper.  He wore a gray plaid jacket.  And that hair was unmistakable.  IT WAS HIM.  The crossing guard, the crossing guard whose job it was to make sure I got across the street without being flattened by a speeding 79′ Chevy was sitting on the job!  I waved.  Surely he would see me over here, on the other side of the moat.  I waved again.  It was cold, and the warm lights of the donut shop were almost too much to bear.  He didn’t see me, or if he did see me out of the corner of his eye, he pretended not to. 

I started to cry.  I would be stuck on this side of the street all day, perhaps until tomorrow, and then I’d have to go to school wearing the same clothes and they’d be dirty from having to curl up in a ball near the base of the stoplight, and my parents would be really worried, and that stupid crossing guard probably wouldn’t even bring me a donut to make up for it and…

Then a knight in shining armor arrived.  Okay, it was more like a sixth grader with a Dungeons and Dragons Trapper Keeper, but he looked down and said “Do you need help crossing the street?”

I nodded, in awe of how tall and helpful this…this…man was. 

He held out his hand.  “I’ll help you,” he said. 

I was a little nervous, because technically this guy was a stranger, and I am pretty sure he hadn’t been to crossing guard training, but how the hell else was I going to get to school?  I grabbed his hand.  He bravely looked both ways and said, “Come on!”  We ran across the street together.

“Thank you,” I said (At least I hope I said that). 

“There ya go,” he said, and like that, he was gone, his longer and stronger sixth grade legs zipping ahead to school.  But I was safely across the street, and life could go on. 

I have never forgotten his face.  Sometimes when I am back in my hometown I will remember this story when I drive by that intersection.  The donut shop where the crossing guard ignored my waves and cries is now a Great Harvest Bread Company.  I wonder what became of my sixth-grade hero.  I like to think he grew up to be a good guy, who has a son.  He teaches his son to help other people, especially little kids and old ladies. 

He probably has no memory of that morning, wherever he is.  I guess it’s proof that little gestures can have a lifelong impact.