It was a sunny fall day in Providence, Rhode Island. There was a tall man walking in front of me weaving from side to side. I thought at first that he might be drunk. It took me a moment to notice that he had a small person sitting on his shoulders. He was swaying and she was holding on. It looked risky.

I kept my eyes on this odd pair as I hurried past. When I got around front, I saw that the girl was reaching down on either side of her dad's face. Her hands were clutching his beard, and she was tugging one side and then the other, steering him like a horse. "You gotta pull straight, honey," he was saying with a laugh in his voice. I realized, at that point, that there was a huge silly grin on my own face. I think the father must have seen it, because he gave me a glance back that reflected the joy I was feeling.

Why was I so happy in that moment? It wasn't my beard being tugged. I don't even have a beard. There was no little girl on my shoulders. My little girl is a freshman in college. It has been many years since I carried her in a backpack while we walked along the Muddy River, chatting about the ducks and the leaves in the water until I felt her head drop lightly onto my shoulder. But in that moment in Providence that little girl was mine, and I was her dad. There is something about the bond between a parent and a child that bonds us all. We - parents and the people who care for parents - are in it together. 

I've told this story to a few of my friends. Each one, when I get to the point where I see that the girl is steering, has smiled with real pleasure. I think we all must carry with us memories of moments like that when we were the horse or the rider. It's those memories that connect us, in a flash, with the joy of the moment. The feeling spreads like a virus. As we pass it back and forth with glances, it deepens. We are having fun. We are being human together.