The neighborhood was full of kindsof all ages. It was kind of ruled by a group of older boys who playedlots of games on a large tract of woodlands next to the houses where welived. East coast woods are thick with trees close together, so it waseasy to play hide and seek or capture games.The game that I encountered was already well developed with its own setof rules. There was a set group of older boys who would chase theyounger children, boys and girls, around the woods. If you were"caught", you had to submit to going to their "fort" (some were prettyelaborate and hidden). There you had to allow yourself to be tied up.No resisting or fighting back. The captor would then leave you thereand go find other victims. After an afternoon of this, the boy with themost captives still tied up was the winner. So, if you wanted to win,you either made a deal with the captives not to try to escape, or yougot really good at tying people up. The deals were usually enforced bytickling, spanking, or. But it was a cold blustery day, and he only had one arm. I had pulled up to the traffic light, and for a moment, time stood still. I watched this man as he slowly made his way up the sidewalk, with his one working arm he would push the wheel on his chair propelling himself forward, then reach over across himself and push the other side of the chair to correct his heading, and push it again. I sat there wondering, ‘why would anyone in their right mind even do that?’ Obviously he had done this before, it couldn’t possibly be the first time. I of course had no clue as to where he was going, he made no obvious effort or movement towards the convenience store there on the corner, he just kept pushing himself forward, a little bit at a time, against the wind, wig-wagging back and forth on the sidewalk, constantly correcting himself. And then his hat blew off. I was half tempted to leap from my car in some gesture of compassion, some noble deed to scurry over towards him, retrieve his cap.
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