If you run for over an hour, you tend to notice things that you would not normally see, if only to keep yourself entertained. On Saturday I had a gorgeous run around White Rock Lake. In an attempt to entertain myself, I accidentally became enlightened. It occurred to me that public parks are very valuable and democratic places.
I came to White Rock Lake because it has a paved, mostly pretty, and long trail around the entire lake, but I got a lot more than just a beautiful run. I experienced the colors, the cultures and the people of Dallas.
At the beginning of my run, a group of elderly friends biked past me. They were enjoying their time together, except for an old man at the back of the group, who was complaining loudly about his thirst in a bright Texas twang.
A few minutes later, I passed a dog park, where I noticed a gay couple in their mid-thirties trying quite unsuccessfully to coax their dog out of the lake by throwing a stick. The dog seemed to take pleasure in his owners’ irritation. Just before I passed the area, one of the men skulked towards the water with an exasperated and doomed expression on his face.
The next section of the lake had seating areas and picnic tables. I passed Hispanic, Indian and Korean families within the next mile. I was fascinated by all of the languages I heard in one place.
Then came the colorful characters. My eye was almost instantly drawn to the definition of a white male’s mid-life crisis. Sitting on a bench next to the path was a slightly overweight, balding man wearing non-descript wire rimmed glasses that accentuated the tired roundness of his eyes and pudgy head.
I think the first thing that drew my attention was the black leather jacket that tightly gripped his shoulders. It was punctuated by silver studs that lent him the look of a dinosaur. His jeans were old, a little too tight for him and tucked into ankle-high black leather boots with more silver accents, which were better suited for a sullen teenager than a man.
He spoke rapidly into the phone with his businesslike, baritone, Midwest voice, bemoaning his job with long nasal vowels in every word. He paused for a moment between phrases, only to interject over whoever was on the other side of the line.
I passed him and made way for a group of committed bicyclists who wore matching body suits advertising an energy drink. Soon afterward, I heard a loud truck behind me, which was confusing since I was on a pedestrian and bicycle path. Slightly alarmed, I turned around and saw the mid-life crisis driving a new Harley-Davidson motorcycle with a seat behind for his wife or girlfriend, who had elected not to accompany him. He blared ‘80s rock over his muffler.
On the final stretch, I encountered a man in his seventies with a surprisingly healthy head of bleached blond hair that had a peculiar yellow tint. He was wearing a tight hot pink T-shirt that highlighted his stomach and skimpy cut-off jean shorts that managed to be whiter than his legs. A young girl pointed at him and said something that I couldn’t understand. Her mother looked mortified.
The beauty of this experience was that all of these diverse people with various eccentricities and interests and ages were able to enjoy the park together. It was a strangely harmonious convergence of very different people. The park goers were kind and courteous to each other, but there was a general understanding of boundaries. It was a real life application of “live and let live,” which allowed every person in the park some solitude from everyday life.
Paul is the Opinion Editor. He is a junior majoring in voice performance.
