I remember that day in the park as if it were yesterday. My eleven year old and I had settled on a bench to watch a pickup game of baseball, my son providing the play-by-play. Nearby an old couple was sitting, holding hands. A young man drew on what looked to be a sketch pad.

After the game, we wandered a few of the park’s pathways and then decided to go to the Italian ice place on the corner. Ian, in his eleven year old excitement, raced across the avenue to the shop.

He did not see the taxi cab.

The taxi cab driver did not see him until it was too late.

I do not know what the young man with the sketch pad was drawing.

I like to think it was a pickup game, an old couple holding hands, and a father and son on a summer’s day outing to the park.