Being pulled by a border collie around Marcy Park in University City, I came upon an old man (remembering that old is always ten years more in age than I am). This man was using a walker to wind his way around the circular sidewalk that measured about a quarter of a mile. He reminded me of when my son was 6 and learning to ride a bike around Marcy. At first the man held a death grip on the silver walker as he lifted it and plunked it down, not without a struggle at times until he got his rhythm, just like a 6-year-old maneuvering a silver two-wheeler for the first time.
It crossed my mind how much courage it takes to find balance and how much balance is needed to find courage in both a 6-year-old on a bike and a 70-plus-year old on a walker.
Without being conspicuous and violating the old man’s space and privacy, I negotiated with the eager border collie and whispered “lizards” to her, and she quickly headed off the sidewalk to the trees and bushes on the perimeter of the park, where she hoped to find some action. I kept my eyes on the man. Inside me, the roar of a silent cheer rose for the old man as he maneuvered a slight turn, lightened his grip, equal parts courage and balance, and took his left hand off the walker, only using one hand.
I wanted to yell “good boy” as I had decades ago when my 6-year-old son succeeded in riding his bike and using one hand at times. “You did it! Good job! Good for you!” I wanted to scream, but instead a little tear of joy ran down my cheek.
In each of us aging folks remain the remnants of a 6-year-old riding a bike without training wheels, so full of hope about life, just as the poet Emily Dickinson captured in a poem called “Hope.”

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity
It asked a crumb of me.
Hope sometimes gets buried under life as we deal with current events: financial fears, polarizing government, wicked wars of weapons and words. (Has anyone gotten weary of election rhetoric on the long road to Nov. 4?) However, hope holds its head high when a kid learns to ride a bike, and a senior learns to master a walker with one hand. We enter early childhood on a bike and exit old age on a walker. In between, we measure life with teaspoonfuls of hope and courage.
On a rainy Monday, Feb. 18, at La Jolla Country Day’s Four Flowers Theater in North UC, a man of hope addressed a mixed audience of students enrolled at LJCD and adults in the community who were lucky to sign up for this free lecture. Greg Mortenson, author of “Three Cups of Tea,” addressed the hopeful crowd about his work built on hope, courage and balance of another sort. The title of the book comes from his experience in a Pakistani village, where the belief is that when you share the first cup of tea, you are a stranger; the second cup of tea makes you a friend; the third cup of tea you become family.
In 1996, Mortenson dedicated his life to building schools for girls in Pakistan after attempting to climb the mountain K-2 to honor his deceased sister who succumbed to an epileptic seizure.
Although he failed to reach the top of K-2, he met some warm and wonderful Pakistani villagers who took him in and took care of him after the arduous K-2 climb.
Mortenson has built 61 schools in Pakistan and Afghanistan for 25,000 children, of whom 14,000 are girls. He has taken great risk because the Taliban does not want its girls educated. After all, as Mortenson likes to say, “If you educate a boy, you educate an individual, but if you educate a girl, you educate a community.”
He sees hope in promoting peace, literacy and education. “Hope can come through literacy and education. Fighting terrorism is based in fear; promoting peace is based in hope,” according to Mortenson. The book is this year’s choice of KPBS’s program “One Book, One San Diego,” and should be a read for everyone. Go to www.kpbs.org and click on arts and events for more information on the book and author.
Nature is one of the best teachers of hope. What dies in winter is reborn in spring. Our communities have been blessed with rich rain nourishing our grass and flowers; the UC canyon hillsides are greener than they’ve been in years. In December and January, many gardeners cut back their rose bushes to resemble dying sticks; this week after the rain, tiny roses are rising among healthy leaves again. Pear trees are exploding in tiny white lace petals. Hope is in the air.
” Correction: In the Jan. 24 article “Flying Leatherneck Museum wants to take off,” it was incorrectly stated that the official Marine Corps Aviation Museum was the only one in the western United States. In reality, the Marine Corps Aviation Museum is the only one in the United States. We regret the error.