“…Fifth and Broadway,” the young man said. He held up the faded newspaper clipping. CROSSING GUARD STRUCK SAVING TWO CHILDREN. “My name is Darius Coleman. I was one of those two kids. I was seven. Yesterday I graduated from medical school.” He held up the medal. “I’m going to be an orthopedic surgeon, Mr. Maurice. I picked it because of your leg.”
The banquet hall had gone completely silent. My father was holding onto the back of a chair. Darius gestured to the crowd behind him. “These are the families of the kids you crossed at that corner for twenty-five years. We found each other on Facebook. There are a lot more of us. These are just the ones who could drive here tonight.” A woman in the back raised a little girl onto her hip. “You crossed me, Mr. Mo,” she called out. “Now you cross my daughter.”
Then Darius turned to Uncle Ronnie, still standing with his drink raised. “Sir, I read the whole article last week. I had to know who the other kid was.” He held the clipping toward my uncle. “The second child was eight years old. His name was Ronald Jr.”
Uncle Ronnie’s drink slowly sank to his side. His son, my cousin Ron Jr., was sitting at the dealership table. He stood up, white as a sheet. “Dad,” he said, “you told me I jumped out of the way.” Ronnie’s face crumpled. “I told everybody you jumped. I couldn’t stand that my little brother… that Mo…” He couldn’t finish.
My father limped across the hall. Ronnie met him halfway. For a moment the two brothers just stood there. Then Ronnie put both arms around my father and held on, in front of his dealership friends, in front of the country club, in front of everybody. “You stopped traffic, Mo,” he said into his shoulder. “You stopped a truck with your body.”
Darius spent the rest of the night examining my father’s leg on a banquet chair. He says there’s a surgery that can fix it. Uncle Ronnie is paying for it. He insisted.
