If you didn’t have one of our own, you knew someone who did. It was a right of passage.
When you got so tall, and so old and coordinated enough to steer it, you pulled it over the bumpy sidewalk and owned the block, showing off to your friends that you owned a little red wagon.
Maybe you put your favorite dolls in the wagon. Maybe it was part of your paper route. My sister got one of her many dogs, by spotting a litter of puppies snuggled up inside a red wagon. It was part of a block parade on the Fourth of July. “Julie” popped her head over the rim of the wagon at just the right moment and it was love at first sight. Julie was a lucky girl to land in that house. She was the heart of that home and it all started with a ride in a little red wagon.
So today, when I spotted a little red wagon rolling through the lobby of the cancer center, I sighed. Inside, covered with what had to be a favorite blanket and fluffy pillow, was a little person suffering from cancer. I have no idea which cancer had invaded this youngster, it doesn’t really matter. What mattered was this little red wagon was her comfort zone. She didn’t have to struggle to walk, she didn’t have to sit in an ill-fitting wheel chair and she didn’t have to avoid the eyes of those of us who just naturally feel a twinge of sadness whenever we see a child suffering from cancer.
Her care giver, who I suppose was her mom pulled the wagon with ease toward the doors and out to the car. A day at the cancer center had come to an end.
The little red wagon had done its job.