I sat near a young family on a BART train this weekend, as I rode from 24th street to West Oakland. The parents were in their mid 30s, the first child was perhaps 7 years old, and the second child was perhaps 2. Every family member had some form of assorted luggage with them, even the children. However, as the train approached Embarcadero, the mother began saying goodbye to her family, and kissed her youngest daughter several times as the train pulled up to the stop. The youngest seemed to enjoy her mother’s kisses, but was also calm and mildly disinterested; content to gaze out the window.
I got sick of driving, so I’ve been taking public transit to work every day. BART train to Ferry Building, ferry to Marin (and vice-versa). The best part about this change is that now I get to have BART adventures like everybody else in San Francisco.
One of the Buddhist monks from the monastery on 22nd and Capp was sitting down on the seat in front of me. She was small, with a shaved head and robes. I was standing, packed into the train car, next to a tall man with long hair.