Chapter One: An Interaction With a Teenager
Earlier this morning I dropped my younger daughter off at school to take the ACT test. As we got into the car she immediately turned the radio to her favorite station. Mumford & Sons’ Believe was playing. Now, trying to connect with my 17 year old is always an iffy thing. Will I get merely grunts and groans to anything I say or a brisk reaction meant to shut down any conversation? I never know. The terrain is a minefield. Yet, I choose to traverse it every day in hopes I will have some meaningful interactions with her (honestly, I’d be very happy with just a little idle chitchat).
But I’m a risk taker so I asked, “Do you like this song?” “Yeah,” she said, “I have it on my phone.” I saw an opening so I continued. “Well, their latest album is very different than their old stuff. They’ve dropped the banjo.” “Yeah, I know,” she replied. Moving forward, “Well, aren’t you surprised I know about them?” Her retort: “Aren’t they on old band?” Emphasis on OLD. “Um, no not really.” “Oh, um, okay. I hope we make to to school on time,” signaling our music interlude was over.
The thing is, I’ve never heard any Mumford & Sons music. Ever. But a couple weeks ago I was walking home from work and they were being interviewed on NPR’s All Things Considered. That’s how I knew their music had changed from their earlier “propulsive, rootsy, acoustic music” to a more “plugged in” variety. “Goodbye banjo, goodbye accordion and double bass.” Melissa Block’s words. I grabbed what I had, took a chance, and went with it. While I was in the zone I reminded her to take in the garbage cans when she got home. The things fathers do to connect with their daughters. Boy, was I good. And, thank you NPR for guiding me through today’s minefield.
Chapter Two: An Interaction with a Twenty-Something
Whenever I ride the subway I like to sit in the seats that face the center aisle. They’re close to the door and I don’t seem to get car sick when I’m tweeting. But most of these seats are reserved for “Seniors or those with disabilities.” And, over the years, I’ve kept a lookout for those who truly need these seats. I’ve been more than happy to let them sit down.
I was extra happy to actually turn into a bonafide senior citizen last year. Finally, I would feel no shame at sitting there, but I still offered my seat to those who needed it more than me. In part, I feel good when I’m giving. But, as a former father of two toddlers I took to daycare every day on the Metro, I truly was grateful for the kindness of strangers who gave up their seats so my girls could sit down.
Lately, I’ve had back problems so now I am both a senior and someone who genuinely could use a seat. Today, I was sitting there next to a young woman who was texting. A mother and her five year old entered the crowded train and, without thinking, I stood up and offered the child my seat. That was no mean feat in a moving train with a bad back. The law of paying it forward required it and I gladly did so.
But as I stood there looking down at that young woman, who hadn’t looked up once since sitting there, I wondered if I should say something. “Don’t do it!” my inner sense told me. “Don’t wreck the morning.” But I continued to think about it. I don’t look my age and have been waiting for someone to challenge me about sitting in senior seats. I was all ready with my response: “I’m 65 and I appreciate that my outsides look deceptively young. But, I assure you,” I would say, showing them my Senior SmartTrip Card, “that my insides are right on track.”
I wanted to say something. But I didn’t want to come across as an angry old man (okay, an angry old man who looks like an angry younger man). As we got closer to my stop I kept wondering: should I do it? And, suddenly I found my voice. I leaned down and quietly said to her, “Miss, I don’t want to embarass you but these seats are reserved for people who need them. I’m 65 and have a bad back but I got up to let this child sit down. I hope you will think about it, the next time you sit here.” She simply nodded that she understood. No rolling of eyes and no smart-aleck retort. I was proud of myself for coming up with the right words and the right delivery and I was proud of her for listening. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
Chapter Three: An Interaction with Three Thirty-Somethings
Feeling the inner glow of not one but two successes so early in the day, I got out of the train at the next stop and made my way to the exit. As I was leaving I noticed the station manager hugging two other women. The feeling was infectious. And I found myself suddenly blurting, “Are you giving away hugs?” All three of them wrapped their arms around me for a group hug.
As I walked the block to my office I pondered the last two hours, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Interesting interactions are the souvenirs of my life. And I had just been handed three special ones. What a great way to start the day. And the morning isn’t even over yet!