The Incident | Community

I walk frequently in East Lawn Memorial Park, where wide paths wind through gracious landscaping and you can get to a good aerobic clip, turn on the iPod and tune out the world. But I never walk these serene environs without recollecting the Incident. It happened over twenty years ago when I pushed my niece and nephew (Mary four and a half, Johnny two and a half) in the double stroller into the park.

At the time the need to be a good role model had taken firm hold in the zeitgeist and I wanted to give the kids a memorable tour, filled with gentle dollops of Mr. Rogers type wisdom. Plus I wanted them to stop giggling at my spiky new haircut, which was pert with product. We paused on the main path, and I had begun some mild oration about chirping birds when Johnny pointed at something behind me and Mary said, “Here comes Mr. Bee.”