Don't Be Late

I almost missed the pancakes and fresh fruit salad at the club's annual July 4th breakfast. Note to self: Get moving earlier, next year.

The day was hot, and promising to get hotter. I convinced my ride buddies that we should skip the hard climbs we'd planned, substituting instead a leisurely trip into a well-shaded canyon alongside a creek. Feeling adventuresome, we continued into the Monte Bello Open Space Preserve at the end of the road, as far as our skinny-tire road bikes could sensibly carry us. By the end of the day, I had covered some 39 miles, climbing 1,840 feet to burn off those pancakes.

This year, I made it to my town's celebration in time to get a traditional burger for lunch. The party was in full swing at a local park: a wind symphony playing marches, kids running and playing in the fields, adults clustered in whatever small patches of shade they could find.

I learned that some famous marches were composed for newspapers. John Philip Sousa wrote one for the Chicago Tribune. He composed another, which I'll bet you've heard, for The Washington Post, for a ceremony celebrating award-winning essays by schoolchildren. ['Twas a different age, indeed.]

I found a spot along the fence next to the park's steam train, near the carousel. A family of four occupied a pair of benches, the two children oblivious to the festivities and attractions around them. They appeared to be about 7 or 8 years old, and were completely absorbed in playing games on their iPads. Completely. Absorbed.

“There's a steam locomotive behind you,” I wanted to shout. “Look, they're spinning it around on a turntable.” What kid doesn't like trains?

The boy was so fixated he wouldn't even eat; his father repeatedly thrust a hot dog in his face and he'd swat it away. When he finally forced him to eat a few bites by taking away the iPad, the boy let forth an earsplitting wail.

I walked away. Why did you bother to come here, I wondered. Go home and play in your virtual world.

'Tis a different age, indeed.