On the run

Last night I went for a jog in my neighborhood. I had my ipod blasting in my ears as I was enjoying the first real cool breeze in south Texas in several months. About 2/3’s of the way through I saw it rounding the corner going as slow as it could without being considered parked, playing it’s music louder than my ipod. Yep you guessed I saw the ice cream truck. Push ups, ice cream sandwiches, nutter butter’s all in the back of that truck. Then the real scene happened, a boy no more than 13 began crossing the street. In his arms he carried a baby somewhere between 6-8 months old, no pants, shoes or socks, a bunched up t-shirt that at one time was white and a sagging diaper that would make any plumber jealous. Close on his heals two other kids one about 3 the other about 6 with excitement on their faces not paying any kind of attention to crossing the street. The oldest boy was doing his best to make sure they crossed safely to get to the ice cream truck and I a question went through my head, why was a 13 year old parenting? Who is there for that guy? Here he has all kinds of responsibility running around his ankles but what about him? Who can he be free with, who can he lean on, who can he dream with and be encouraged by, who cares about him? And I kept running.