Written: Saturday, June 19, 2010
Wrappers by Christopher M. Bohan
He stepped outside to find his stoop littered with Klondike wrappers. His sigh was deep and long and sank to his toes. Armed with a garbage bag and a set of extra long tongs, he cleared his stoop of any evidence of the disgraceful disrespect exhibited by his youthful neighbors.
He has always kept his frustration to himself. No need to waste his breath yelling at the perpetrators; they would only laugh. And, more than likely, the trash would only then increase in volume.
Instead, he has attempted to curb the steady stream of litter by setting an example: a quiet revolution. And not just in his front yard, but along the whole street. He starts at 7:30am and moves south down to Hawkins and then back up the west side of the street until his bag is full.
Over the past year, flowers have learned how to breathe again. The paint on the abandoned cars seems brighter, crooked address numbers seem to have straightened up and smiles have returned to faces.
A few kids, with nothing better to do, still attempt to break his spirit with infantile piles of wrappers, but he simply snaps them up with a smile.