By Jeff Baker
The old man was there every day when I took my early-morning bike ride through the park. He was always sitting by the lamp that didn’t work.
The old man always looked up when I rode by, but I never stopped. The old man looked like he was in his eighties. One day as I was pedaling by I noticed a bicycle leaning against the lamppost beside the park bench with the old man. And that the old man looked familiar.
That night I realized that somehow the old man was me!
So today when I go for my bike ride, I’ll stop. I’ll talk to him. Maybe we’ll go riding together.
Maybe I won’t stop at all.