If I take a particular way home on my daily walk, I come across a chain link gate that opens out onto the sidewalk. This particular gate is two pieces that close at a latch in the middle. Each piece is six feet long, so when open it blocks a twelve foot section of the entire sidewalk. The gate protects some rare fenced in off-street parking for residents of the adjoining house. The drivers leave it open, presumably because they are lazy, and certainly because it is heavy. I know it is heavy because every time I walk by it, I close it with a great crash. Sometimes I kick it, for good measure, which usually hurts my foot.

This gate gets my goat.

When I am pushing a baby in a stroller or directing a toddler on his balance bike, or often both, and there is someone parked on the street which there often is, we must bump all of our wheels off the full height curb, peek our way around the parked car, and then walk down the middle of the one way street for the length of the parking lot. This is not the worst of city living one could encounter, but it is an unpleasant undertaking.

I have only ever thought about Us, the pedestrian family, in this situation or Them, the unconscientious gate people, but today I thought about The Other. Because at church on Sunday a woman shared that Pittsburgh is a wonderful place to work in disability activism, which she does, and also that her community is grieving the loss of two of their own. One of whom fell out of his wheelchair last week and froze to death on the sidewalk.

The room offered up a spontaneous groan of sorrow. Tears sprang to many eyes.

So today when I came upon the gate, I realized that I’m closing it for many people. For those in wheelchairs. The sight impaired. The elderly. Small children. I am capable of obstacle re-navigation, but none of these people should have to wander about in the middle of the road when there’s a perfectly good sidewalk for their use.

On the gate is a wooden sign with carved letters: NO PARKING DRIVEWAY. I want to etch another sign to hang on the gates: NO BLOCKING SIDEWALK. Or sometimes: I HATE YOU AND YOUR UGLY GATE TOO.  But then I decide to stop being angry about it. There may be something tangible I can do – should I call the city’s 311 non-emergency line? Just once or every time? Should I knock on the door? Should I ask the neighbors? Write a letter? None of these things are improved by my frustration about having to close the heavy gates, so I’m just going to keep dragging it shut, without kicks or muttered curses. I close the chain link gates for Others; I keep my attitude in check for myself. And each time I close it, I’m grateful for those working to call attention to the ones who are not as seen as the rest of us.

Post #13 of 40 Daze: A Lenten Writing Practice.