He was about ten, maybe. On my way to the Pond, I often walk through the skate park to watch the kids practice. He sat quietly on the wall, holding a scarred skate board. As I passed, two older kids about 16, approached him. My first thought was they were going to tease him.
“Hey, kid, you wanna skate? Don’t just sit there, show us your stuff.”
The other teen chimed in, “It’s ok, Dude. We promise not to run you down.”
Relieved that they weren’t bullies, I walked on. The last I heard was the little guy’s reply, voiced in a strong, almost manly tone.
“I have a name. .. My name is Diego.”