Tariq stands on the edge of the sidewalk, the signal baton tucked between his small fingers. Dust from a passing car splatters his blue shoes. From the crosswalk they shout, "We want to cross!" and lunge toward the road.
Tariq raises his hand high and waves the baton left and right: "Stop! Stop!" The little car stops. The big truck growls and gets angry.
Tariq grips the baton tight with his little fingers and tries again. The truck won't stop. Dust swirls all around him.
Tariq runs in front of the truck and swings the baton like a whip through the air: "Stop!" A long screech… then silence.
Tariq smiles and points: "Follow me, one behind the other." The children cross in a winding line toward the other side of the street.
A small boy hops over the painted line and stops dead in the middle of the road. His eyes are wide. His feet are planted.
Tariq tosses the baton up into the air. It rolls across the asphalt and comes to rest at the boy's feet. "See?" The boy quietly wanders back to the waiting line.
The crosswalk is quiet now. Every child has crossed safe and sound, whistling little cheers for Tariq. Tariq sits on the edge of the sidewalk. No shouting. No wheels. Just tiny footsteps on the asphalt.
