As everyone is supposed to harbor at least one particular grievance in our society, let me say here that I have been the victim of intergenerational heckling.
Mind you, I like it.
One instance occurred a few months ago as I walked the streets of downtown Providence. It was a chilly day, and I wore a fairly nice cloth coat which reached my knees. I wore no hat and the wind whipped my hair.
A car slowed beside me, kept me company as I walked. Inside it were four young black guys, smiling. One of them leaned out of the open window and said, “Hey, George Washington! How you been, George?”
They pulled away, whooping at my look of utter surprise.
Yesterday evening, I took to the bike path that runs along the seashore. I had a companion this time, a very striking young friend who had just happened by to get some exercise before answering the call of the nightclub.
We cycled through the early evening sunlight, remarking at the beauty of our surroundings, on how some people come to holiday in Rhode Island for just such vistas of sea and sail. And how we have it in our backyard.
The sun began declining and we knew we would have to turn back. She suggested we stop in Warren, at the Bridge of the Hungover Fishermen. So we did, and took a pause.
I removed my helmet, she took off her sunglasses, and then we looked out over the golden-green reeds lining the sides of the inlet, at the swirling blue of the tide rushing beneath our feet.
We were alone on the bridge. It was a moment, we agreed.
Just then a group of three boys in their early teens rode across the bridge. The lead one called back to his two buddies, “Look! Look! She’s with Dumbledore!”
Four people burst out laughing.
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