
by Carla Galdo
Clad in bright green and fuscia, my angel slowly wheeled her walker up behind me as I stood at the counter of the local recreation center, trying to fill out paperwork for a complicated refund. My rambunctious three-year old, Gabriel, was leaping dangerously from one side of the hallway to the other, and shaking the 10-month old's stroller in an attempt to "make little Peter laugh." Try as I might, to both fill out papers and distract Gabriel from pushing the stroller down the nearby stairs or putting Peter's eye out with one of his silly flapping gestures, I couldn't seem to do either completely or successfully. My silver-haired angel, assessing the situation, wheeled herself next to the stroller and held it still.