The over-zealous activist had a litany of complaints...beginning with the usual local thorns in everyone's side... for starters, she said, the schools are failing our children... In this enlightened age, mind you, behold the outdated curriculum, the dog-eared books, such systemic favoritism of a dying and whitewashed canon, those incorrigible teachers and their obstinate clinging to the familiar, a dearth of sustainable classrooms, low morale, weather-beaten, dim, dank compromised interiors, a broken district's unacceptable inadequate funding, a declining tax base - full of childless tax-payers who are fed up paying for other people's kids - unconscious intentional bias directed toward marginal outlier populations...a lack of understanding, a lack of sensitivity in a city distracted city by homelessness and food insecurity, rising rents, zoning restrictions, housing prices, too many condos and not enough homes, free cannabis (a boon?) and lax standards for industrial hygiene... Traffic congestion and the absence of new construction... Add onto that the under-funding of health care, opioid addiction, child neglect and a shortage of mental health facilities, elder care, hospice care, weekend clubs for teenagers, community centers, dilapidated roads and bridges, too large of a fossil-foot-print, the exorbitant costs of higher education...The choices so stark and so clear...and the problems so easily solved...
We had made our way down busy Palm Avenue towards the crosswalk. after zigzagging the usual route from busy Bandini Avenue to Tower Road to Rosewood Place. Bret was our wild-man companion - a fifth-grader with a take-no-prisoners approach to life. The local crosswalk, that most mundane of enterprises was soon to become the scene of spontaneous absurdist theater when suddenly out of nowhere came the random yelp: Hey...Hey...What do you want with us lady? - What do I want with you? said the most predictably normal gray-haired woman by whose ever so brief guidance we measured our daily jaunt to school. Yeah - where are you taking us? - There's only one way kid - It's this way... - You're not really a crossing guard are you? came the cheeky interrogative. The slightly bemused, limping, beleaguered woman was dwarfed by her bright yellow uniform as she held up her STOP sign - showing Brett. The other smaller kids walked by us single file in the middle of th...
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