I stopped by the old school this morning. I barely remembered what it looked like.
Several large classroom trailers obscured the building where I once learned—every spare inch of the lawn was covered.
It was only then that I realized how many are in training now: much more than when I began.
The path to the school was once wide and open, but has been reduced to a narrow, meandering maze, every twist and turn haphazardly lined with flimsy chain-link fence.
I noticed a young woman walking down the front steps. I had the distinct impression that her training was complete.
I watched as she followed the zig-zag path alone, striding down the long hill with determination.
At the bottom of the hill, a pathetic group of men had congregated by the gymnasium. They weren’t boys, but they sure acted like it— talking and joking together, making snide comments about the people passing by.
Why are those guys just hanging out here? I wondered. They had never moved on.
The men intentionally blocked the young woman’s path, but she cut right through them, ignoring their crude remarks and domineering behavior.
As she went out into the world, the boys immediately returned to their play and forgot about her.
I, too, knew it was time to walk that path.
There’s no reason to come back here, I told myself. Training time is over.