Don’t be intimidated by this dedicated gentleman. He is one of the kindest, most humble man. And it is I who has given him the power and authority over the city. I may be small, but I am an indication of fearlessness, dedication and endurance. Not everyone gets to obtain me, due to the fact that I am only limited to those who exhibit a particular set of qualities. They, the heroes, are the ones who get to wear my kind with pride.
You’ve definitely seen us countless of times roaming on the streets or peaking through car windows. I can be identified even a mile away, not only because I’m enclosed with a bold, vibrant yellow frame, but also am globally known. We stand by our selected men and women on the field and in Dunkin Donuts when they’re debating on which flavor donut to get. At the shoulders level, I have a near to perfect panoramic view of the surrounding, however, not much of the action. Nevertheless, I can’t be any happier to be part of my possessor’s life, but most of all, I can’t be more proud of him.
Serving is such a rewarding quality. I can’t imagine living a life feeling helpless. Though I cannot physically help my possessor, I am still able to serve him as his reward and a reminder of his endurance and bravery. Buckie. Poor Buckie. I wonder how he’s doing these days. I haven’t seen him since the Bolivian Parade last Sunday. He seemed miserable the last time I saw him as if he has given up on life. Not a single soul has given his or her time to accompany him. All he wants to do is to shine a light on kids’ faces. It is all that he asks for. He’s one of the few of his kind who’d rather do this type of work pro bono, which makes him special.
I still remember the first day when I met him, the same day when I was assigned to my hero. It was a particularly hot day with a scorching summer heat. His first job was to roam around the streets of Jackson Heights and ensuring safety, free of wrongdoings. He brought me with him as I hung tightly onto his right shoulder. We happened to stumble upon two lovely couples who owned that particular bodega, the same couple who adopted Buckie. Buckie used to have a glossy white finish, a brightly painted saddle and silky, volume hair. Number of kids used to line up along the store to get a chance to sit on his back while their parents withdrew money from the ATM machine nearby. After the kind donation of fifty cents, Buckie would rock back and forth as if he were an actual horse with bones, flesh and all that. Kids would laugh and scream at the top of their lungs, “go horsey, go!” But now, they have disregarded Buckie. They have found other means of joy and entertainment. Now, most families would walk right by him and not even notice his existence. Those who do, find no interest in him. I wish his adoptive parents wouldn’t be disappointed with him. It isn’t his fault. He is such a wonderful being. No one should go through the same, feeling helpless and empty. Although he may not have fought for his life the same way as my possessor did, he is still a hero to me.
This is my possessor.
