From time to time, our town forgets that we’re a mere two miles from the city limits of Washington DC and instead masquerades as Mayberry-meets-Pleasantville.  During the summer, such episodes of municipal amnesia take place the first Friday night of every month.  We bust out a bandstand, a local resto sets up a grill and they even pitch a Bouncy House in the middle of 40th Street.

As our 3 y.o. obediently queued for his chance to bounce like mad, another small child rushed the gate and bodily propelled himself halfway through the opening before the attendant hauled him out by his feet.

We all looked about, expected a parent to come flying forward to claim the wayward child.  But no.  Apparently, Solo had toddled - he couldn’t have been much more than two - to the community festival on his own.  In fact, after grinning at the BH attendant, Solo cheerfully danced off onto 40th Street - conveniently blocked for the event.

If we accept that it takes a village to raise a child, how do you react when one of your fellow villagers is clearly falling down on the job?

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