I had a date with my youngest son, Peter, and his girlfriend Olivia last night. Dinner out and then the William Forsyth exhibition at the ICA. I hadn’t realized it, but admission is free from 5-9 on Thursday evenings so that was a pleasant surprise.
The exhibit itself was mind blowing and delightful—see above. The kids had taken an uber over and as I’d heard parking was a bear, I’d left my car at Alewife and taken the T. As I was looking for my Charlie Card, a young man was heading through the turnstile and he motioned silently for me to follow.
Now, a free admission on public transportation was not necessarily his to give or mine to accept, but I did. As we waited for the bus he was speaking in Spanish to some women I presumed to be co-workers; I am all too familiar with that end of the shift camaraderie. It was also not lost on me that this young man was likely a fairly recent immigrant.
I thought about this country, America, which was not ours to take. I thought about that wall, which is not ours to build. And I thought about this young man, who decided that he would share what was not his to give, but that which he had paid for. Why? Because I was fumbling for my ticket? Because it was late? Because we are both human beings and there was a turnstile between us and our ride home?
Yes, yes and yes.