Fewer kids than ever walk to school on their own. In 1969, almost half of American children walked or biked to school. By 2009, National Household Travel Survey data showed it was just 13%. So the kids who still walk, and the crossing guards in orange vests who get them safely across, have become a small part of neighborhood life that most parents barely notice, until something seems off.
This is the story of a Richmond, Virginia mom who timed every minute of her fifth-grader’s walk home, a 63-year-old crossing guard who kept him waiting, and the kindness and compassion she didn’t see coming. Like a parent’s love nobody asks for, her son had been doing something nobody had asked him to do.
My son Jayden is 10 and in fifth grade at an elementary school on Richmond’s North Side. School lets out at 3:05, and every afternoon a crossing guard named Ms. Loretta walks the kids across the street in her orange vest. Starting in September, she began holding Jayden back until every other kid had crossed. I’ll admit it: I’m the mom who times everything, and those extra minutes drove me up the wall.
I started counting. Fourteen school days in a row, my kid was the last one across. Other parents noticed too. One dad in the pickup crowd laughed, “What did your boy do to her?” Another mom said Ms. Loretta “plays favorites.”
On a Thursday in October, I walked up to the corner while she was still holding Jayden back. “One more time and you’re done,” I said, right in front of 20 other parents. Ms. Loretta is 63 and spent 30 years running a school cafeteria. She didn’t argue or explain. She just looked at me and said, “Follow him home tomorrow. Then decide.”
So the next day, I parked half a block away and watched. Jayden didn’t leave with his friends. He waited by the school doors until a small boy came out last, dragging a backpack almost as big as he was. Jayden took his hand. Ms. Loretta walked the two of them across together, slowly, and knelt down in the crosswalk to tie the little boy’s shoe while traffic waited. A whole line of cars sat there for a 6-year-old’s shoelace, and not one of them honked. I’d never seen that kind of everyday kindness happen right in front of me without anyone saying a word.
I followed them four blocks to an apartment complex. A woman in her seventies was waiting on a second-floor balcony and waved down at them. She can’t manage the stairs. Jayden waited until the little boy was safely through the door, waved up at her, and then ran home. That’s why he was nine minutes late every day.
The awareness of time passing is something adults impress upon children, that's not particularly good for anyone of us; I've no doubt you're living under a lot of time pressures, try and relax more. Your son acts generously with the time he has, emulate him.
That night, I asked Jayden about it. The boy’s name is Gabriel. His family moved from Puerto Rico in August, his mom works the 7-to-4 shift at a hotel laundry, and his grandmother can’t do the walk. In his first week, older kids teased him and rushed him in the crosswalk. So my 10-year-old went to the crossing guard on his own and asked her to keep the two of them last, where nobody would hurry Gabriel. It was pure compassion, from a kid I still remind to brush his teeth. He never told me. “You’d make it a big deal,” he said.
Ask yourself, would him telling you have given you a lovely 'warm glow', or would you have told him to stop?
On Monday, I went back to the corner and apologized to Ms. Loretta, in front of the same parents. She shook my hand and said, “Next time, ask first.” Fair. One of the moms told me afterward that walking someone else’s kid home isn’t a 10-year-old’s job. Part of me understands her. Most of me has never been prouder of my son. Would you have let your child take on a responsibility like that?
Now I walk both boys home on Fridays. Gabriel’s grandmother sends me home with pastelillos wrapped in foil every single time, and Jayden pretends to be embarrassed when I hold Gabriel’s other hand. In June, Ms. Loretta gave Jayden a child-size orange vest with “Co-Captain” written on the back in marker. He wears it every Friday. That’s what kindness and compassion look like at our corner: a few extra minutes, and a family that’s a lot bigger than it was in August.
Has anyone ever looked out for your kids in a way you only found out about later?
