Patriots’ Day is a wonderful day. Those of us lucky enough to attend college in Massachusetts are gifted a three-day weekend. Some of us use it to catch up on schoolwork, some of us make up for lost sleep and some of us attend (or even participate in) the delightful Boston Marathon. Each of my four years here at Tufts, I have spent this unique date at Boston College, cheering on thousands and thousands of runners as they climb and descend Heartbreak Hill at Mile 21 of the long course.
My freshman year, the race came to a screeching halt when homemade bombs detonated at the finish line on Boylston Street. The rest of that day was spent answering concerned texts, sending ones of my own and finding a safe way back to Tufts. It is a day I will remember for the rest of my life. Each time since, Marathon Monday has been memorable for more positive reasons. I remember tying shoelaces for runners whose hands and fingers were numb and pruned from the cold rain. I remember seeing the elite runners pass at an incomprehensible pace. I remember hearing the roar of the crowd as Dick Hoyt and his son passed by. I remember Meb winning the race the year after the bombs went off. I remember the real joy in people’s faces when they hear the genuine words of respect and support that exudes from everyone cheering them on. This year, I remember J.J., David and Bella.
When I was much younger, my brothers, friends and I would put out a folding bridge table by the curb and sell lemonade. We would sometimes sell brownies, cookies and popcorn as well. We would bring my dog out to the curb and tie her leash to a tree, and customers would often pet her and smile while drinking their lemonade. The extra money it provided for us was useful, but I would have done it for free. Those hot summer days spent hollering at passing cars and selling to families walking to temple were perfect.
While walking along the side of the course this Monday, my friends and I came upon two young boys sitting behind a table stocked with various drinks. A pit bull puppy lay between them. My girlfriend asked if I had any money for them. I did. I bought a water and then another. J.J. and David thanked us for our support and let us pet their young dog. They told us that her name was Bella and that her parents were Bonnie and Goldie. They said that yes, they did like their schools, though David couldn’t remember the name of his. They told us that they do this in front of their house on Commonwealth Avenue during the race every year. As we talked with them, petted Bella, ate our ice cream cones and drank our waters as the sun beat down upon us, runners passed just yards behind us. The crowd cheered for them. I was too busy to notice.
Flashes of Brilliance: Lemonade stands and Marathon Monday
