{"id":8804,"date":"2025-01-18T00:01:00","date_gmt":"2025-01-18T00:01:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/brendans-island.com\/catholic-citizen\/?p=8804"},"modified":"2025-01-19T16:45:57","modified_gmt":"2025-01-19T16:45:57","slug":"kids-a-subway-station-and-offhand-advice","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/brendans-island.com\/catholic-citizen\/kids-a-subway-station-and-offhand-advice\/","title":{"rendered":"Kids, a Subway Station, and Offhand Advice"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"Google<\/a>
A cable car on Powell Street. San Francisco, California.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

One of the many things I liked about living in San Francisco was the city’s public transportation system.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t know about the situation now. But a half-century ago I could get up, eat breakfast, catch a cable car, connect with a bus, and be at work on time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Getting back was another matter. By late afternoon, agreement between the bus route schedule and actual running time was at best approximate. I got in the habit of walking toward downtown until a bus came along, leaving the bus near the Embarcadero Center, and walking from there. After a cup of coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"InvadingInvader's<\/a>My weekday routine didn’t involve BART, San Francisco’s rapid transit system. But I used my BART card fairly often, partly to get places faster than a bus would take me, partly because I liked the then-new system.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’ll admit it. I’m a technophile. So was my ancestor Arba Zeri Campbell. That’s a story for another day. The main point for today is that I was in the downtown BART stations fairly often. And when I was, it was during the less-busy hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>Not Really Advice: More Like an Observation<\/h4>\n\n\n\n
\"BART.gov's<\/a>
1972: the latest in fast urban transit: a BART station.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

One day \u2014 I’m guessing it was a Saturday afternoon, but that’s just a guess. Anyway, one day I was waiting in a downtown BART station.1<\/a><\/sup> I was alone, except for three other folks: two boys and an older girl.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I’m guessing she was their sister, partly because of their conversation’s tone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The two boys were sitting on the edge of the platform, dangling their legs over the tracks. The girl\/young woman was exhorting them to stand up and back away from the edge. Urgently, and unsuccessfully.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was getting frustrated, the boys were enjoying themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They might have had time to remove their legs from the area that’d be occupied by a train, since we were some distance from the platform’s end. Then again, maybe not.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boys were early adolescents, or thereabouts: at one of those ages where individuals in my half of humanity can generally be relied on to exhibit energy, enthusiasm, and an appalling lack of wisdom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wasn’t exactly sympathetic with the one I figured was their older sister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The other half of humanity includes some individuals who, from an early age, exhibit a degree of poise and aplomb generally associated with international diplomats. She was not one of those individuals. Neither am I, for that matter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think it was when one of the boys glanced back at me that I said “helluva young age to lose your legs”.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I’d finished saying “legs”, they were both looking at me: briefly, before scrambling up. Fast. They’d probably have been able to get their legs out of the next train’s way with seconds to spare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the train I was waiting for came. I got on, and haven’t seen any of them since.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/a>That Voice<\/em><\/h4>\n\n\n\n