But Ray also knew when to cross the gravel.
That part matters.
He didn’t abandon Cole on the ground.
He waited until the lesson had somewhere to land.
Then he sat beside him.
For ten years afterward, he kept showing up on the last Saturday of every month until showing up was no longer something he could do.
And when that day came, the boy he had once refused to lift was strong enough to carry the lesson forward himself.
I still run the lot off Route 64.
The cones are faded now.
The fence leans a little.
My coffee still gets cold because I spend too much time watching people learn things the hard way.
Every so often a kid drops a motorcycle and looks desperately toward a parent.
And every time, I remember Ray Holloway sitting down beside his son in May of 2014.
Not rescuing him.
Not leaving him.
Just teaching him the difference.
