This is a picture I did not take

of a mother standing mid-span, smack-dab in the center of the Golden Gate Bridge with her young son in her arms. He was about three or four years old, and was squirming, clearly uncomfortable. His mom was holding him in her arms like cordwood, or like a wrestler about to set-up a pile-drive; she lifted him high while walking toward the chest-tall barrier that separates (and teases) the dead from the living at this magnet for suicides, and she held him there, his entire body above the barrier, while he squirmed for a few seconds in his Disney t-shirt, and she laughed at him, Michael Jackson-style, playing a life-threatening prank on your child-style, and by the time I realized what was going on (I had to verbalize it; "she's holding him up, she's holding him above the rail!") she'd turned away and quickly walked the other direction, laughing at her her son, while another child of hers, a daughter of five or six, toddled after her, calling mommy.