Victor Kerlow Dear Diary:
One early morning in late February or early March, I was waiting at the crosswalk on the corner of Bleecker and 11th Street. A little girl about 8 years old, with pink winter boots dangling, was the well-balanced passenger on the back of her father’s bike.
The father was pedaling with careful determination, while his daughter, using his back as a desk, was writing in her notebook with admirable concentration â€" obviously putting the finishing touches on her homework.
You got the feeling her last-minute scribble had been performed in transit before. I hope the assignment was not for penmanship.
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