John Mensinger

Emily,

I wrote this email to a friend this morning when I arrived at the office, and would like to share it with you. West Warwick and Woonsocket have much in common:

"I have a route to work in the morning that takes me through the hard-scrabble mill village of Crompton in West Warwick. I choose this route over the "strip-mauled" highway because it gives me a view of the real world. Like in most of West Warwick, the population here struggles just to survive. The housing stock is faded, the lots are small. Nothing has changed since the days when the now closed mills were thriving with textile manufacturing. Life remains hard for people on the low end of the ladder.

I often get behind a school bus that stops in front of a small nondescript house that sits high above the street, behind an ancient granite retaining wall. It's 10 past 7 AM. I stop as the red lights flash, and I put my car in "park" to observe the scene as it unfolds over the next five minutes. Today I was lucky to be right behind the bus, and I immediately suspended all thoughts of what awaited me at the office today.

The bus attendant goes to the rear of the vehicle to lower the handicap lift at the rear. A woman appears at the front door of the house, about 35, with a determined, competent air about her. She's been awake for a while, and I can tell she has a long day ahead of her. Most of the time she's dressed smartly for her job, obviously an office position, professional environment; other days, like today, she's in her bathrobe and slippers, hair flying. She pulls the wheelchair over the threshold of the door backwards onto the covered porch, and her severely disabled son appears, about 12, arms twisted and agitated, head back and tilted, mouth open, mumbling distractedly; she then moves the chair to the small elevator at the end of the porch adjoining the driveway (big enough for just the one car, an older Nissan sedan). After strapping the chair down, she presses the button and then walks quickly back to the front door, down the steps and jumps over the wall into the driveway to get there before the elevator touches down.

This is when her face comes alive! She greets the bus attendant with glee - the world couldn't be a better place! She speaks animatedly to her son, with joy and confidence that his day will be happy. There is no burden here. She stokes his cheek, smiles, talks to him and wishes him well. She stands there, today in the rain, as the attendant straps the chair to the bus lift and begins to load the boy for his journey. She reaches up to brush his forehead as he ascends, offering him one last smile, all her love and affection, without the slightest hint of having endured any hardship. And finally, as the door closes, she modestly folds her arms across her chest and purposefully but contentedly strides back to the house to begin the next part of her "work-day"

This happens every day; and every time that I am privileged to watch this compassionate, loving scene unfold, I cry. I'm crying now. People are SO good. I am so fortunate to spend time in their company. Let me be like them."

Peace.

J