To the mama walking ahead of us this morning:

Ducklings.

That is what first comes to mind when I spot you and your towhead brood a block ahead of us; three of them and only one of you, walking with order and purpose, navigating the uneven sidewalk.

I realize quickly that these are not ducklings, following blindly one behind the other, behind the other, behind you.

You are not leading them, you are walking WITH them.

You are pointing out the trees and the moss and the flowers in the pots.

You are walking side by side with your children.

Only the littlest needs his hand held, because that is how little ones are.

The purpose of your outing becomes clear as your little one points and pulls and strains towards the noise of the jackhammers.

The Department of Corrections has a crew tearing up the street; at least that is what the van and black letters on tan jumpsuits tell me as I slow and hesitate.

You move forward with confidence. Your children do the same alongside you.

You point to the machines and wave to the men. They wave back and start up the jackhammers which they had stalled as a courtesy when they saw you approaching. Your little one shrieks with delight at the noise and the dust and the pieces of concrete breaking while the older two smile and cover their ears.

You wave again and then continue walking, pointing to an old house and then a bird.

You are imprinting a sense of safety and wonder on your children.

They trust you and choose to walk with you.

These are not ducklings.