Editor,

It happened again today and yesterday and a few times last week. I was walking across the crosswalk between Char Grill and Davidson Day School and I almost got hit by a car.

The real problem is I was holding the hand of my 7-year-old daughter.

It’s a 25-foot death walk. I feel like I am stepping on the backs of alligators, hopping across the Amazon hoping and praying I get to the other side.

Last week a young woman was driving and talking on the phone. When she skidded on the crosswalk to a stop I could read her lips “Oh, I am so sorry.”

Oh no problem, I thought. I am sure the conversation was probably pretty important.

This morning it was an older man in a big white Mercedes. He slowed just enough so that I could get by, but could feel the breeze of his car on the back of my legs. He looked at me like I was doing something terribly wrong. How dare I slow his morning down by 10 seconds?

I don’t blame it all on the fact that some don’t respect crosswalks. It’s a tough crosswalk to notice: there are no lights flashing, the signs are small and white lines are faded.

On a regular business day, a hundred people or more cross there everyday, and it’s mostly younger people, full of life and happy trusting us adults and leaders to protect them.

Take a moment and think about your friend, daughter, son, wife or husband. It’s a busy morning and the world is moving like it does everyday. From the left comes a UPS truck and another car. They stop. As you begin to cross the road, another car sees you and then – screech!

Everything is silent, everything stops. Just like that the busy day is completely silent, and even people shopping at Harris Teeter stop. It’s death, and its presence can be felt by all around. Two people are lying on the asphalt, eyes shut and still. A book bag has poured out its contents on the curb – wrinkled artwork, a Flat Stanley book.

Now imagine it’s one of yours. We can’t stop everything but we can do something. Flashing lights might not fit code or be aesthetically pleasing. But at the funeral, the preacher can’t say “God chose to take these people.” Because maybe He didn’t ... maybe we did. It’s only a matter of time before something tragic happens at this crosswalk.



– Mike Noble, Davidson