The Crosswalk Guard Who Tried to Dim the Light

Every morning, before the sun fully rose and before the first pot of food finished simmering, I stepped outside my restaurant with the same purpose I had on the very first day: serve good food, treat people with respect, and build a place the community could call home.

Most mornings were peaceful. Cars passed, neighbors waved, and the smell of seasoned chicken, curry, jerk spices, and fresh steamed dishes drifted into the street. But there was one person whose presence always cracked the calm — the crosswalk guard stationed right outside my door.

Her job was simple: keep kids safe while they crossed the street. But somewhere along the way, she turned her attention from the traffic to my business. Whenever the aroma of the food drifted toward the sidewalk, the kids she was helping would lift their heads, sniff the air, and smile.

“That smells good!” they’d say.

And without missing a beat, she’d turn sharply toward them and sneer,

“Don’t go over there. That place ain’t worth nothing. Don’t support them.”

Sometimes she said worse — petty remarks, unnecessary comments, comments meant only to poison young minds. Like she took joy in discouraging anyone from walking through my doors. She didn’t whisper either. She wanted to be heard. She wanted the negativity to stick.

But I never fed into it.

I wiped down my counters, stirred my pots, greeted my customers, and kept my head high. I reminded myself that real success doesn’t come from arguing with people who are determined to stay small. And besides, the kids weren’t blind — they saw how she acted. They felt the energy. Even they knew her attitude didn’t match her uniform.

People with no peace inside always try to disrupt the peace around them.

One afternoon, a mother came in with her son — one of the kids the guard had tried to discourage. They sat down, ordered food, and the boy said quietly,

“She always talks bad about this place… but I wanted to see for myself.”

He took one bite and his eyes lit up.

“Mom, this is amazing!”

His mom smiled.

“Sometimes people talk bad because they’re unhappy with their own life. Don’t let them decide things for you.”

Word spread. More people came. And as they tasted the food, saw the service, and felt the welcome, they realized the truth for themselves. Her negativity became background noise — petty, tired, and ignored.

Meanwhile, my restaurant kept growing. The dishes stayed hot, the customers kept smiling, and the atmosphere stayed full of good energy — something no amount of hate could ever dim.

The crosswalk guard still stood outside every morning, still muttering the same negativity like a broken radio. But she no longer had power. The community had decided for themselves what my restaurant really represented.

And I learned a valuable lesson:

When someone hates you without reason, it’s not your problem — it’s their reflection. Keep cooking. Keep pushing. Keep shining. The right people will smell the good energy and walk right in.