For the entire 40 minute train ride, you played, laughed, bounced, whispered, laughed, tickled, flipped, hugged and laughed with your two young children.
Your fellow passengers, mostly business men and women dressed in suits, gearing up for the day, started out giving you furtive glances, annoyed that the soundtrack of their morning routine was to be you and your children. Annoyed that they just wanted to close their eyes, read their book, work on their report, listen to music, and were now distracted by the near constant peals of kiddie laughter coming from your seat.
Luckily, you didn't notice them. Or, if you did notice, you ignored them.
For as the train sped along, slowly a smile began to creep onto the faces of those around you. It started out small, but as the laughter kept going, the smiles grew. Soon, it was infectious. The entire car was filled to bursting with smiling, giggling, pleasant people. You and your children infected everyone around you with joy.
It is very difficult to ignore the laughter of a child, after all.
The affect lasted for a while, too. While exiting the train, people were generous and allowed others to go first (not normally the case during rush hour in the morning). I watched strangers commune over the laughter of your children. I saw men wave at your daughter as you held her in your arms. I heard women laughing while insisting the other go first, then bumping into each other and laughing again. It was simply amazing.
Unfortunately, it wore off at the bottom of the escalator, where the "me first" attitude and normal pushing recommenced.
But for a while, it was lovely. And I hope that you realized the affect that your little family had on us. I hope your day remains as pleasant as our ride became.
So I ask you, guy on the train... Could you bring your children to work again tomorrow?
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