Two days ago when I was on my way home from downtown, I was sitting in the front seat right behind the driver, At the stop at Fillmore, most people sitting in the front and a woman sat down with a little girl on her lap. I have lost my knack for estimating the
age of children. She was obviously old enough to walk and not quiet old enough to be chattering to the person  I assumed was her mother. The girl was wearing glasses made of a rubbery plastic—made so they would stay on her face, but pliable, I should say soft 
enough to not hurt her if she fell. It seemed that the lenses were made of a soft, unbreakable material. 

"Those are nifty glasses. I could use a pair like that so they wouldn't break when I roll over on them in bed."

The mother replied, "Once she got used to them, she wouldn't take them off. She wears them to bed and they stay on all night."

"When she was just a few months old, I noticed that her right eye turned in. I think they call it a lazy eye. The doctor was happy that I had caught it so soon. If I hadn't caught it, she might have had to have a operation to fix it when she got older." She was beaming at this point, obviously proud of herself for having found and reported her daughter's eye problem so early. "The doctor says that she'll have to wear the glasses for two years. But I don't know how we'll get them away from her. She even reluctantly takes them off for her bath. Other than that she wears them night and day."

We talked back and forth about her daughter, how old she was—she would be two in a month—how she was slow in talking, but that was because she was an only child and rarely had other kids to play with. When did my daughter start talking. I told her my daughter was probably older that she was and I didn't really remember when she stated talking, but that when she started, she didn't stop. We laughter. A person across the aisle said that she had a daughter like that. We laughted again.

While we were talking I watched the little girl. She was scanning everything in the box and everything passing by the bus. Obviously she was able to see. Different things caught her attention and she would examine them. We got off at the same stop, but before we did, several people in the bus complimented her on her beautiful, curly heared daughter. I thanked her for talking to me. And that was it.


    Richard Simmonds
    I've lived in San Francisco for 30 years, in pretty much the same place. Most of that time I've taking the 38 Geary bus to work and home again. The ride has always fascinated me. Not a day goes by that I don't come home with a story from the bus for my wife. Now I'm retired. I still ride the 38 and still find great, often inspiring stories. I work on sharing the best ones with the readers of this blog.


    May 2013