Slice of Life — Equality March D.C.

Ninety-degrees and a little past Noon. We headed towards a patch of grass on the West side of the National Gallery of Art. It was time to re-drench The Kid with sunscreen. Veering off from the Equality March, we settled next to a family from Alabama, there with their two tween boys.

All four of them were blond and looked like they stepped out of a K-Mart catalogue circa 1978. The boys were sitting lazily on the grass, watching the demonstrators while their Father sat protectively, close behind them, mouth agog, eyes wide open and darting from sign to sign in the unfolding scene. The Mom was on an investigative mission.

“Y’all visiting from out of town?” I asked. “Alabama,” the Mother answered. The Father seemed genuinely surprised these two men with a baby could speak — or maybe would speak to them. I smiled broadly and added, “it’s hot, isn’t it?” “Oh, yes, it’s hot,” she chimed.

“It’s time to reapply sun screen,” I chirped. “Y’all know how it is (motioning towards the boys), you have to say on top of them every second.” “What?” The Father grunted. “Yes,” the Mother said, patting the Father on the leg. I recognized the move. Any married couple knows it: I’ve got this dear. He seemed relieved, returning to his survey of the crowd — only pausing now and again to look at my Husband, The Kid and me. He had at least a million questions.

My Husband methodically covered every inch of The Kid with sunscreen.

“What’s this parade for?” Tween Boy One asked. “Leave it alone,” the Father proclaimed.

“So, did all this go in front of the White House?” The Mother asked. “Yes,” I answered, “we’ve been walking for a few miles.” “That’s a long way,” she said. She started another question. “Leave it alone,” the Father interrupted.

By now, my Husband was finished. We got up to leave. We smiled. Waved to the boys, who smiled and waved back. “Take care of your parents,” I said. “Have a safe flight home.”

And, with that we started making our way.