The park was his favourite. It was right across the street from his house, and every day, when his father came home, he asked to go. His little heart leaped for joy when he would see his father smile and nod. He would wait patiently for his dad to help him put his coat and shoes on. He would think about all the games he would play with his father, and his excitement would build, until, finally the door would open and he would rush out.

His father would call out and remind him to stay close. He would run back to his dad and hold his hand, knowing he wasn’t to cross the street on his own. His father would tussle his hair and praise him for his patience and for his obedience. He would lead his son to the edge of the sidewalk and teach him to look both ways, before they would cross the street together, hand in hand.

But on this day, things were different. His father came home from work, the little boy ran up to him for a hug and excitedly asked to go to the park. His dad beamed and agreed, helped him into his shoes and coat, opened the door and stepped outside. As they approached the sidewalk, hand in hand, his dad remembered he had left something important in the house. ‘I’ll be right back,’ he told his son, ‘wait here for me.’ The father ran back to the house, still just steps away, and the little boy waited on the sidewalk, looking at the park on the other side.

To a little boy, seconds can feel like minutes and minutes can feel like hours, especially when desperately excited. He could see the swings and the slide. No one was there. He could have the park all to himself and take as many turns as he wanted. He took a step towards the street, approaching the edge of the sidewalk. He remembered he should wait. He turned around to look back up at the house. The front door was open and he could see the light was on. Surely his dad would come out soon.

He counted to three in his mind, expecting his dad to walk out by the time he finished. He didn’t. He felt disappointment and frustration. Why was he taking so long? He counted to three again, this time out loud, still his father did not appear. Did he forget? Was he ever going to come out?

He looked out across the street to the park again. It was so close. He had walked across the street hundreds of times, he knew how to do it. Maybe his dad would want him to try crossing the street on his own this time, maybe that’s why he was taking so long?

He saw another boy, a little older than him, riding his bike towards the park, heading straight towards the swings. The swings were his favourite. He had to go there now so that he could save his spot. His foot left the pavement as he bounded onto the street - a car horn began to blare.

Before he could take another step, he was pulled back. His father had come out and ran to him as he saw what his son was about to do.

Concern that looked like anger marked the father’s face. ‘What were you doing? I told you to wait for me! You could’ve been hurt!’ The gravity of the situation and the near miss from the car began to dawn on the little one, as tears filled his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all that he could manage to think of saying as he began to sob.

His father’s concern gave way to compassion. He drew his son in close for a tight hug as he whispered, ‘it’s ok, you’re ok now.’

The father held his son and wiped the tears away from his face. ‘Now tell me,’ the father gently asked, ‘do you still want to go to the park?’ The boy sheepishly nodded. His father stood up, tall, and reached out his hand for his son to hold. The little boy looked up at his dad and took his hand, gripping tight.