My mornings are pretty much the same. I get up at 4 a.m., do a little writing, have a little breakfast, grab my earbuds, and head out for a three-plus-mile walk. Someone should have told me years ago to stay in shape. They probably did, but I didn’t listen. There’s no set route. Generally, I zigzag back and forth, avoiding the high-traffic areas. 

Last Friday, it was as clear as a bell. What a great morning! A true-crime podcast filled one ear while the sounds of the roaring surf filled the other. About the three-mile mark, I turned onto a narrow side street a block from the ocean. It combines mostly well-kept newer beach houses and patio homes. A few updated vintage ones with character line both sides.

Something caught the corner of my eye. A little girl, four, maybe five at the most, was walking toward me, waving. Who is this kid? Is she by herself? You know, the news browbeats us with lousy stuff 24/7 so I automatically thought the worst. Scenarios rushed through my head. Is this a setup, or what? Call 911? Keep walking? This is a kid. What do I do?

Somewhere between Keith Morrison’s distinctive Dateline NBC voice chattering in my left ear and the roar of the surf booming in my right, one of my trusty better angels quietly whispered. Relax, it’s a kid. If she needs help, you’ll make sure she gets it. I slowed and smiled.

She stopped, held up her hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun, and shouted, “Hey, hey, hey, Mister, we’re at the beach. Me and my Mama and Daddy came to the beach. I’m gonna have my best day.”

I stopped. As I pulled the bud from my left ear, a woman’s voice from a patio home porch got my attention. “I’m sorry, Sir. My daughter is so excited about our fall beach vacation she had to tell somebody. Before I knew it, she picked you. I’m so sorry she interrupted your walk.”

Writer Denny was hoping for a friendly, witty reply….Nothing. I guess the lump in my throat was restricting the blood flow to my brain. Resting my hands on my knees, I swallowed twice. My voice cracked. “That’s wonderful.”

The little girl waved again and said, “Well, I just wanted to tell ya.” After swallowing again, the lump went down. I waved back and said, “Thank you for telling me. I know you’re going to have a great time.”

“Bye,” she said as she ran across the narrow yard.

“Bye. Have fun,” I answered while pushing the bud back in my left ear. 

Ole Keith Morrison was still talking. He hadn’t missed a beat. A seasoned Dateline podcast fan like me knows where the story is going. Was it the husband, the boyfriend, or the stranger? After seeing that little girl waving, it didn’t matter. I hit the pause button and dropped the earbud in my pocket. This old man was having his best day.