Walk with me. When
you hear those words you might immediately picture a celebrity or mogul with
his entourage of minions and groupies flowing like a wave over a path lined
with security and nylon ropes to a waiting limousine. The celeb might use the
phrase to bestow upon one follower a moment of private conversation illuminating
him in the reflected glory of being close to the source of celebrated
light.
Or you might conjure a vision of a nondescript secret agent
clad in an aging grayish top coat. The
coat is appropriately rumpled with subtle stains that suggest the wearer is a permanent
member of the workaday world populated by millions of people – people made
invisible by their gray attire and gray demeanor. His eyes are obscured behind the gray tint of
his transition lenses and generic plastic frames. The walk is meant to hide from eavesdroppers
and counterspies. Walking is his quiet
cue that the words are urgent. Perhaps
the security of the free world hangs amid the words to be spoken.
Christians might think of Jesus collecting the
disciples. Many were on the road to
their daily tasks and their daily lives when he asked them to walk along and
take a different path. His walking words
have shaped much of the world. His
light, as history has confirmed, penetrates time and space but isn’t harsh like
the stark aura about a rock star – it can’t be extinguished nor contained even in
a cave sealed with a two ton stone. As
the disciples walked with him, no limousine waited – a slightly smelly,
somewhat tired and tattered donkey stood by.
Young Thomas has picked up on the humor and irony when he
dons his leather coat, combs his hair into a pompadour and says, “Walk with
me.” He is the Fonz. He is a rock star. He is the comedian who makes everyone chuckle
at the tongue in cheek commentary by a ten year old on the transparent
shallowness of celebrating fame. The greatest
strength of being ten is the ability to observe the absurd and laugh at it out
loud.
When I heard "walk with me" for the first time, I was about two. With my early surgeries and
the effects of spina bifida, walking wasn’t one of my normal milestones like
most ten or twelve month old toddlers.
My attempts began much later. I
held my father’s hand and tried to respond as he urged, “Walk with me.” He and mom would massage my legs each night
and put the tiny leg brace on my left leg each new day. Dad would stand me up, grab my hand and say,
“Walk with me.” After a time, I could.
When Joe and I are walking together, he tells me, “Papa you
squeeze my fingers too tight!” Free
spirited Joe wants to fly. Unable to
keep pace with a four year old, I squeeze to keep him close by. After some attempts at working out this
gnarly problem, Joe and I reached an accommodation. Joe agreed to “walk with me” and I agreed not
to squeeze his hand. In fact, we agreed
that he would squeeze my hand with all his might as we walk together through
parking lots and stores and around the block but always as he walks with me.
In working with Eva the labradoodle, I really don’t like the
command to heel. So I talk to her. Walk with me.
I say it while giving a gentle tug on the leash and pretty soon we walk
at a comfortable gait. The leash hangs
loose as though it has lost its reason for being. On the walk, she chases a fluttering leaf and
sniffs every post or pole. When I stop,
she sits and looks up at me to ask when we’ll start again.
Walking and talking seems like a dying art. Walking has become speed walking for exercise
while staying connected with each new gadget.
But the most private setting for conversation can be found under a
canopy of trees in full autumn blaze lining a rural lane, or on a city sidewalk
festooned with decorations of the season amid the symphony of sounds that
engulf cityscapes. In such places, one
to one conversation happens with quiet words, by the touch of hands or through expressive
eyes. Listening is undistracted and
focused by rustling leaves or teeming traffic. Walking without a destination frees the mind
from today’s frustrations and from the next item on the “to do” list. Taking a walk with someone is punctuated by every spoken
word and unspoken message. The
experience is shared. The things that
divide get blurred and the things that unite become clear.
Reclaim the dying art from the grip of images and satire. Say, “Walk with me” to someone. Then walk.
--td