So I waved to him.
It was a soccer-mom wave. A goofy, quirky, unexpected wave attached to my big, toothy grin, and it caught him by surprise. It caught me by surprise. The corners of his mouth curved up a bit as he moved on. Warmed.
Coming from a small town, I'm used to making eye contact with passersby. Only we didn't call them that. We called them neighbors. Everyone knew everyone, perhaps because we acknowledged each other. Weird how we had more physical space around each other, yet we were closer.
When I ventured off to college in New York City, I continued my country 'howdy' ways, frightening quite a few people. City style was the do-not-disturb, look-away look. Black clothes, dark glare. With my menacing smile, they probably thought I was part of a marauding new gang of bad little white girls. Make eye contact with me and I will steal your wallet AND your soul.
I tried to change my ways, but I was too far gone. I didn't mean to scare anyone, it was just a natural thing to look, nod, and say 'hi.' My friends warned me, tried to get me to stop. But it was impossible.
Then the unthinkable happened - my look caught on. Competing bands of 'howdy' gangs soon appeared, each striving to be friendlier than the last. A particularly vicious turf war broke out when members of the "Smilin' Grins" invited the "Hey-How-Are-You's" over for coffee and danish. Everyone was hugging and laughing. It was horrible.
For a while, I led the "Hi Street Hello's." We were known for our impeccable personal hygiene and 'Happy Face' tattoos. But that wasn't good enough for us. We branched out, helping find lost pets, planting flowers, and taking the trash out for the elderly even if they begged us not to. Other gangs copied us, but we didn't care. We loved them anyway.Hey, it could happen.
"You're different, Mom," my son said as the light turned green. "But in a good way."
I was warmed.
