The Lessons of Long Avenue
Chicago’s Westside: 1600 block of North Long Avenue. We lived there. I haven’t forgotten. Michael bore a visible tracheotomy scar, something I found fascinating even as a child. Both of us were 29 months old and measured a respectable three feet tall. What stayed with me most was the humanity of his blue-eyed presence. I’m certain I’d recognize him even today. When Michael spoke, his voice spanned a remarkable three-octave tone, a result of damaged vocal cords from the tracheotomy.
Not everyone saw Michael as I did. The more vicious toddler gangs at the park would mock him, amused by his unusual voice. I was taken aback by their cruelty. Even at such a young age, I felt compelled to protect my friend. I quickly became Michael’s self-appointed guardian. There was no other option.
Fueled by any two-year old’s version of indignation, I jumped into action. My mother ultimately intervened, lifting me off three bullies by my overall suspenders. As she whisked me from the scene, I cried out some rendering of “I got your back, Michael!” Compassion, it turns out, emerges early. It was on Long Avenue that I first had to choose my companions.
All too soon, both our families moved away, separating us at the age of three. Still, I remain surprised by the unkindness, even psychological violence some taller and much older children i.e. adults inflict.
Today, adult bullies are easier to free out of their long-standing inner incarceration. I continue to want to aid those who are vulnerable, even those masquerading as thugs. Now, though, I’m more aware of my temper, lifting my own suspenders, and checking my tendency toward playing the hero.
My task is to keep my early instincts fed. That compassion and intuition we’re all born with. This is a difficult endeavor. But I have met adults who do this so well. Who work hard on cracking the code of human maturity like Ann the "adult-in-the-room", who naturally embodies empathy, peace, and intuitive wisdom. For her, these traits seem innate. There are people like Ann, whose genuine, human presence is unmistakable. She would have been a prized member of our robust toddler crew, such a blast!
I still listen for those formative stories in others, narratives that often get warped or undermined by the inevitable parade of unkind “taller toddlers” who may have lost their creative and vital spark. But, along the way, we also encounter people like Ann. We all must choose our wizened toddler crew.
Life’s direction is a constant movement toward Michael, Ann, and the creative, remarkably human ones, or toward those who are trapped in an inner destruction. Sometimes it’s a matter of natural inclination, sometimes intention. We make micro-choices, striving for compassion, civility, and genuine kindness. These choices shape our relationships and give voice to who we become.
When I speak of micro-choices, I mean those nearly invisible decisions we make every day. Those unheralded moments that, accumulated, become the architecture of our character. These are the split-second judgments: whether to speak up for someone overlooked, to extend a smile to a stranger, or to hold back a biting comment that would only feed some inner destructive wolf. Most never notice these pivots, yet their consequences ripple through our lives.
Micro-choices are subtle but powerful: choosing curiosity over judgment, patience over frustration, or solidarity over indifference. It might be resisting the urge to join in an “adult” chorus of teasing, instead offering quiet support to the one who stands apart. Or it could be the decision to listen deeply to a friend, to let empathy guide your response rather than habit. Each moment where compassion wins, no matter how mundane, lifts the needle toward a kinder self.
Looking back, I realize how many of these moments have shaped my journey, from the playground days of defending Michael to the present, recognizing the company of those like Ann. The truth is, we are never finished choosing our crews; every interaction is a new invitation to lean toward a deepening civility or away from it. It is its own fresh warm bread.
These micro-choices are not dramatic, nor do they elicit applause. Yet, like brushstrokes on a canvas, they accumulate until, suddenly, we see the sacred shape of who we have become. Through them, the legacy of our lives is crafted, one gentle, intentional act at a time. And it started so early in our lives.
Never too late. Start again. Hit refresh today, as David shares the following:
“…and this very simple step, is all that is needed for the new possibilities ahead.”
Whyte, David. Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words (p. 19). Many Rivers Press. Kindle Edition.
Hey, Michael—if you’re out there, I apologize for forgetting your last name after all these years. I only remember I thought your last name was cool. If you recognize the guy in the picture, shoot me a text.
Kevin C. Murphy, Psy.D.