Families hurried through their mornings, garage doors opened and closed, grocery bags came out of SUVs, kids grew taller, lawns turned green and then pale and then green again.
Mr. Vance watched all of it from that porch.
He wrote that getting older had taught him how quickly a person could become part of the background.
People still waved.
People were still polite.
But being noticed was different from being seen.
Noah had seen him.
When Noah was fourteen, he had watched Mr. Vance struggle down the driveway and understood something without being told.
The next morning, my son had pushed our mower across the street.
He had not knocked on the door to announce that he was doing a good deed.
He had not asked how much Mr. Vance would pay him.
He had not taken a picture or told his friends that he was helping an elderly neighbor.
