Park Placards

I was embarrassed. Or was it my ego knocking at the door? Both maybe. Either way I felt uncomfortable. It had been a while. It was unsettling and yet familiar.


The evening sun was lowering over the baseball diamond where my son and a collection of other young hopefuls were enjoying the first practice of the season. They scrambled about after the ball similar to the action you see when you throw a handful of corn to chickens. To many of them it was yet another step toward their image appearing on a box of Wheaties, to others–a great way to spend time with friends and family.

A handful of the parents sat on the aluminum bleachers. Introductions were extended as were idle pleasantries.

“That my son, the one with the blue shirt, grey shorts.”

“Great! Mine is the one with the yellow shirt and baseball pants.”

A smile of acknowledgment and then a reflective pause.

The conversations ensued around me.

“So, what do you do?”

The responses of the other parents contained a collection of letters I have not heard since my last bowl of alphabet soup.

“I am an XYZ from OSU with a PHD and an MBR and MNY from BYU...”

“That’s fantastic! I am an alum of OU with an MBA and a DNA from PU as well as a JKL from MNOP.”

Intelligent laughter bonded the two.

I put in my iPod headphones.

In my mind it went-

“So what do you do Tony?”

“I invented space travel, post-it notes, human reproduction, milk shakes, and a cure for cancer!”

“Really!!?” They respond astounded by my brilliance.

“No. I am an unemployed ex-hairdresser who can make a killer peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

The laughter further crushing, making me even doubt my sandwich making prowess.

I left as they discussed their achievements. They were not bragging, just bonding and sharing. I walked the circumference of the park. I enjoyed the reflection, the balmy wind, and the sunset. I felt a bit small at the moment. Here I was in mid-life with nothing going on, no business card, feeling as worthless as a breast augmentation coupon to a nun.

I wrestle with where I am at times. I believe I have noble intentions. I do want to make a difference, but am I? Should I just say “screw it” and take the first job that offers a check, forget my dreams of helping others and be able to at least feel like a contributor? It’s coming way to slow for me.

I am well aware that often rewards are found only a few paces beyond where the mediocre give up. I need to practice what I preach. I have always said that my greatest fear is not my inability to practice what I preach, but my inability to become aware when I am not doing so.

I continued my walk around the park. I encountered laughter, sports, children, and nature. I reveled in the brilliant orange glow of the progressing sunset. I noticed my surroundings. The park benches called to me.

Each bench had its own placard at its base– a small metal plaque with the name or names of those who were to be honored or remembered upon initial glance and reflection. I wondered, “Will I ever be worthy of a park bench plaque? What does it take? Will I be easily forgotten? Do I matter?”

I continued and saw each bench and many trees had a placard with yet another name or two. They must have been special people. I guess I realized that I did not need to know them or their achievements to appreciate their time before me. “Good for you,” I thought.

I reflected upon the “alphabet soup” I listened to earlier. “Good for them,” I thought. They should be proud, and so should I. I refuse to compare who I am, where I am going, and the depth of the contribution I share on this planet by comparing myself to others of dissimilar paths.

I am a healer, coach, mentor, father, husband, and swell guy.

Earlier that day as I was having brunch with my folks, I received a random text. It was from a young lady I had spoken with about a year ago pertaining to certain challenges she faced that were harming her mentally, physically, and causing her family distress. She thanked me stating I “saved her life” in the first few months of her battle.

Later that afternoon, I reached out to a friend who had a recent stumble in his own battles. He thanked me for making contact and for the words of encouragement. Hopefully I made a difference.

I took my son to fly his first kite later that day watching his eyes light up as he held the power of flight in his hands.

I saved lives, encouraged lives, and enriched lives in one afternoon.

I don’t know what “alphabet soup” would encompass that. I do not know how I could put that on a business card. I doubt I will be issued a W-2 this year for my accomplishments. I don’t care as I do not need letters, papers, or a business card to feel like I “matter.” I will figure out how to make this financially viable someday. I feel I am still on the right path.

As I respectfully thanked everyone for coming to my pity party, I also thanked Ardith, Byron, and Paul for sharing their benches and shade with me as I sorted out the "stuff." Although I may not get my own park bench placard someday, the couple of texts I got, and the “I love you Dads” I got that day are all the recognition I need.

What have you for me?

I look to myself. I look into the once full well of answers, the once full well of inspiration, the once full well of confidence long since dry. The well filled endlessly by an egoic source–a source of incorrect assumptions, of false information, a source like a false prophet dragging me towards the sun–not to receive the light but to eventual incineration.

I have found a new sense of navigation. An intrinsic compass that beams its beacon, however only one paver at a time. This diminished light not to blind me but to keep me focused. The light shines on the only true reality which is right Now. The fear of a blurred future now gives way to an immediate gratitude and acceptance that right here, right now is in divine design. I will remain patient, diligent, at peace.

It is in this peace I find a purpose. To heal others–one must first heal the conflict in oneself. It is through this diatribe within that we encounter our inner villain, our adversary, ourself. We then burst through the chrysalis to the genesis of a fortified purpose. One that is unwavering. We become one and all.

I look inside and ask myself – what have you for me?

Emerging, peering outward while reflecting inward I gaze in wonder at the world. What has it become? What have I become? Why this once familiar blue marble has become alien, the transition occurring as I stand upon her regal face. I realize the sun shines behind the clouds in the most torrential of storms, but I wonder how wet we will become. Will we drown before the sun’s rays reach our faces once again?

Are we the infestation or are we to be the eradication of the detriment and the degradation? I look in her face and I see pain. I also see hope. I see a plea. I see the plea of a mother distraught over watching her children walking in the deep waters desiring to drown succumbing to a less than noble demise. I see a mother who knows the wisdom and potential is there with a reckless disregard for the long term.

How can one make a difference? I know that I can, but will it be in time? Should I turn a blind eye in effort only to expand my prayer for you feeling powerless? Something tells me no. Something tells me to persevere. Something tells me that I have work to do. Something tells me there are others. Others whose efforts combined will be an elevated catalyst to the change needed to save the life of one which will save the lives of all. I am waiting on the answer.

Mother Earth–what have you for me?

You are in the space between. The silence holds Your presence. I often battle this. I reach to touch Your face yet my hand passes through the ethereal mist. I once longed for physical contact, a simple hug to no avail. I wanted to cry at Your feet, to be consoled that everything would be okay. Like a fragile child I wept at being forsaken. I was looking in the wrong spaces. I see my voice did not fall on deaf ears without compassion.

I find my search a test. In a universe so vast, how can one find alignment? Where are You? In stilling my quest I found the alignment everywhere; pervasive and pure. When I quieted my cries demanding manifestation I was then able to see what I always longed for was in front of me, behind me, and in me. I smile. Like bathing in a shower of divine protection, I gain security, I gain insight. I gain so that I am able to shed–shed the burden of the load that I was not able to see over blocking my vision.

I pray for capability to do what is necessary and to stay true to the course presented to me now. I pray for longer arms. I want my arms to expand their reach to those who need pulled out of harm’s way and into the light of their own journey. I can’t do this alone. I find security in the evidence I now receive knowing that I am not. We have work to do. I crack my knuckles, flex my muscles, and furrow my determined brow awaiting the next assignment. I hope I make You proud.

God – what have You for me?

I'm Sor...

I don’t know how, but I just ended up there. You know, the times when you just feel agitated in your own skin. No reason. Actually no reason whatsoever. None. But I was there. I guess I had decided that I was not in the mood to have a good time.

The drive through heavy traffic and a solid downpour did not help. Neither did the cool temperatures which bordered on wanting to freeze the rain on the road, or just keep you nervous enough to think it was. I was brooding over the fact that the Japanese steakhouse we love had no reservations. None. At least that was what I was told. My family wanted to take me out for my birthday dinner. We did not plan well enough to make reservations, so we could either drive the thirty plus minute drive to stand in a lobby and wait on a Saturday night at one of the busiest social hubs in our city or make another selection. Did I mention it was Saturday night?

 We had our kids with us, I don’t drink, so the wait to me seemed excruciating in my current disposition. Votes were cast to make the trek and take a chance to get seated and I lost; sorely I may add. My wife “helped” me drive the whole way. Thankfully she was there to point out my lack in driving skills. I darkened.

Deeply I know I was being “drug” along (aside from it was my birthday being celebrated) because we all enjoy the restaurant. My kids like seeing the “show”, and we always enjoy our meal. I guess I wanted to be right more than I wanted to be happy. Right about what? Who knows. I wasn’t.

I spite parked. You know where you park further away than necessary, and walk in the torrential rain to get wet enough to have bitching leverage. It seemed like it was a mile. I dropped the family off at the door prior. I walked alone. Idiot.

We had a great meal, a great time, and cheesecake for dessert. Nope, I couldn’t admit it. I was prodded through smiles and taunts to admit it, as they knew I knew I was being irrational. I couldn’t. Not yet.

Eventually as I evened out, blood sugar raised and a good night’s sleep, I apologized for my juvenile behavior. It was met with a simple nod, and life resumed as another day progressed. I am better at apologies than I used to be–mainly because I make them now.

I used to balk at the apology as I spent many of the initial minutes or hours hoping to find another person to harbor the guilt. I didn’t want it to be me. It was you, it was the traffic, it was the world, it was the price of bread, but anything to hang the blame of behavior upon as I did not want to have to say I’m sss... Damn. (The word is “sorry.”)

I used to hope apologies were the ultimate reconciliation. That they would absolve behavior; wipe it away to be forgotten. I found I was trying to control how others digested the events or my behavior. It is not up to me how people receive the apology, only that they hear it.

Like blowing on a dry Dandelion tuft of seeds, we are compelled to release the seeds of apology hoping they will take root in the sometimes obstinate ground of forgiveness. We can only control the gesture of the release with integrity of our intent intact. How or when the apology takes root is not for us to decide. Our sincerity seems to be the nourishing waters that will leverage a hearty harvest of the seeds of apology we release.

As I am able to make amends and apologize for my past deeds I realize it is reconciliation for an account that may need closed. The balance must be brought to zero before I can walk on. I find that waiting to reconcile my behaviors only adds interest to my human debt. In times past, I thought that time heals all wounds; all is forgotten. Not necessarily. However, even tardy amends can dissolve the scar tissue.

I have made amends to those in my past I thought I could just ignore or avoid and it would be water under the bridge–water under my bridge anyway. In some of those amends I got the scathing response I feared. However, I found the pain of the undesired response was lesser than the not knowing or projecting my fears upon the unknown and the harboring of a spiritual debt unpaid.

I can make amends now as I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot control how someone receives my words. I can only control my sincerity in releasing them. Withheld amends are a burden that gains weight. I offer them now to those whom I have wronged, harmed, or owe them to not because I want off the hook as much as it is simply “right”.

As long as my heart remains in the right place, my odds of recovering from life’s little hiccups are greater. I just need to make sure to keep my head in the right place or the view never changes.

Back to School

June 1983. I don’t remember the exact day, but that was the time I was no longer going to be in class. I graduated high school. Full up on smarts. I was an eighteen year old know-it-all ready to tackle the world. I thought with the fancy hat and tassel accompanied with the little scroll saying I was “done”, I really was no longer confined to having my cranium force fed with what I considered useless information. I was now liberated to exercise free-will and apply what I had learned to practical use. I was done learning and ready to start doing.

I went to college after that. True to my words I was “done learning.” My heinous GPA reflected that statement. I lasted three quarters. The knowledge gained mainly in reference to the “under-age” friendly bouncers who would let me in the bars. After twenty one, that type of information is rendered obsolete.

I had always associated that learning came from an academic institution. Students sat in neat little rows, teachers paced in front of the crowd fingers smudged with chalk. The information transfer based usually upon meeting some sort of criteria governed by a board somewhere.

I realize now that I am often being schooled.

I have mentioned many times my philosophy that “in life, not every classroom has a desk, nor every church a steeple.” I have found that life experience presents us with educational opportunities in random format and context. Our teachers often have no chalkboard, degree, or spend time in the teacher’s lounge. The most important and enduring lessons arrive like a sucker-punch via delivery of a formidable instructor.

My wife and I recently were discussing a person in her life she has challenges with. Nothing monumental, but that is often where our resolve and composure is most tested. I proposed to help her get by the animosity she can often feel in encountering the aggravating behaviors, that she considers this person her “teacher.” With raised brow she still speaks of this person as she would “Old lady so-and-so” who abrasively taught her math in elementary school. None the less, the lessons continue.

I then reflected upon my experience. I realized the faculty of the “University of Me” was vast as well. I didn’t know I was in class, but I have many diplomas. I have had many mentors, teachers, sensei’s, gurus, and coaches.

I realize all experiences past and present are presented to teach me something. Whether or not the “subject” is relative to me or another, I try to be connected to what I am supposed to gather. This is the practical side of learning I expected so many years ago. Be careful of what you ask for.

I must have failed everything I studied in my first twelve years, because I have had many remedial lessons ever since that day in 1983.

I have had to relearn math. This painful lesson taught to me by the economy, taxes, inflation, accounting, and a budget. The funny thing is that most of the skills I needed I learned early in elementary. Recently I heard my oldest telling my youngest as he tried some awkward subtracting that he cannot subtract one number from another and go below zero. A great lesson in credit and budget. Wish I had her in sixth period.

I have learned a lot about social studies. Just watch CNN. I interact with my neighbors. I watch my kids interact on the playground. I see the social climate change. I have a feeling this lesson is going to have a tough midterm.

I have revisited Home EC and have fared well. I found self reliance and the key to Home EC has a lot to what we do in service of others before ourselves. Through practical lessons I have learned to cook, clean, do laundry, and I can sew a button. Most of these lessons imposed through the desire to eradicate hunger, dirt, sloth, and inconvenience–not only for myself, but those I love.

Shop – Stuff breaks, we must fix it. I have yet to make an ashtray or birdhouse though.

Physics – You drop something it could break. Gravity. You push something up hill. More effort. Eat too much. Mass.

Phys Ed – It is good to run around and get some exercise for a while each day. Showering nowadays is less awkward in my own shower. Phys Ed improved.

Health – These lessons you learn not by a book, but by experience. I hope you all get to pass on having to sit through the lessons on cancer, diabetes, childhood illnesses, cholesterol, dementia, Alzheimer’s, and addiction. Those classes sucked.

Psychology – Some people are nuts. Some are not. Some are “quirky.” To other people you are nuts.

Government – I wish it was still only a 45 minute class every other day where the answers were in the back of the book.

Foreign language – It used to be where I was from there were two languages: English and redneck. The melting pot has obviously gotten “meltier.” And that is okay.

I guess I am thankful not so much for the lessons, but my teachers have been vast and colorful. I find those I once considered adversaries have taught me the most. I have learned patience, acceptance, compassion, humility, respect, and that if I mess up, and if I don’t agree with you, it is not your fault.

I have learned that age has nothing to do with wisdom. My kids have taught me among the most about myself. They have mirrored back to me my flaws so I can fix them in time to become the father I wish I had as well as to remember and respect the qualities in my father(s) I so dearly love. They took me back to innocence and accountability.

My wife has shown me balance, respect, humility, and that the desire to “always be right” is an unflattering trait. I realize that others can hold the key to our completion. Sometimes those we may find occasional opposition with are often our strongest allies when the real battles appear.

I like school now. I find every day I get to spend some time in the lab, the class, the shop, lunch, health, and phys ed. The syllabus always changes. So do the teachers and I love them one and all. I am also thankful for those who get to sit beside me in class every day. Some I know, some I have to get to know. The lessons are so much more practical now too. The beautiful thing is that there are no school bus rides and a lot less wedgies going on.

Does God do parking?

“Please, please, please!”

“Damn. They were pulling in.”

“C’mon God. Give me a spot please. Just this once. C’mon!!”

“Hey maybe...crap.”

“Oh?!... OH!... Heck yeah! Score! Bing, bing, bing!! Thank You God!! A spot, and close to the front!”

I parked my car in front of the large bookstore located at the mall and proceed to the door. Prayers answered and a strong sense of smug accomplishment; happy as a kid who got the G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip he asked for on Christmas in 1974.

Then I thought: “Did God reaaaallly grant me a parking space?”

This created a new topic to ponder as I strolled around the bookstore. I go to bookstores not always with the intent on acquiring a tome to my liking, but I like the silence. I like the smell. I like being surrounded by the stories of others presented for me to slip into. I just like bookstores.

I wondered as I flipped through the random pages about my recent “answered prayer.” I had issue with myself. Did I really spend more time and energy praying strong and out loud for a parking space? Do I consider God and all that’s holy nothing more than a simple cosmic vending machine to where I drop in a hollow prayer to immediately get my material good? Did my parking space simply get pushed to the end of the column of other vended goodies and by my selection fall to the little glass door for my retrieval?

I looked then to the other similar times of where I went into my little “fanny pack of prayers” pulling them out like the coupon lady at the grocery.

“Please God, let the donuts be fresh!”

“Please God, let there be some ink in the printer!”

“Please God, let us have ketchup!”

In retrospect and through introspect I find that sometimes we see prayers like coins. The pennies we toss about not even worrying if we lose a few in the couch cushions. The small prayers devalued; often unaware they all stimulate the same spiritual economy. The larger coins, the bills even, we save for the big ticket items. Overcoming illness, praying for relief from external burden and pain, oppression of others, dissolution of disasters–these are the prayers we value. I find for me that I must respect the source within me that sets the prayer in motion, and to whom I consider the recipient. It is not up to me to devalue the worth of a penny and I should spend all change wisely.

Then I thought, perhaps these “little requests” are not even prayers. Often I find whether answered in my favor or not, the answer is part of a greater whole–one step in a journey. These little moments of truth allowing us to feel cheated or grateful are part of a bigger lesson. Maybe denial of said request is teaching me patience. Maybe fulfillment showing me I am being heard even when I feel insignificant. I am always grateful when I am given tangible evidence my prayers are being heard. I think my gratitude sends my messages clearer in the future; my lack thereof maybe slowing delivery.

Today I was watching the news as I do in the morning. The major network news show had a touching story. An octogenarian woman had made it a practice for years to order a pizza every day from the same Domino’s; a large pepperoni, cooked light, with two sodas. She lived alone and somewhat in recluse. I do not know if she liked pizza that much or the company. Maybe both.

Every day at 10:00 AM when the pizza restaurant opened, the phone would ring regularly with her request. One Monday it did not–nor did it the two days prior. Upon arriving at work that Monday the manager of the pizza store mentioned to the regular delivery driver of this anomaly. The driver immediately became concerned. She exclaimed she was going to leave work to go check in on her regular customer. At the protest of the manager, the driver mentioned she would “get clocked out”, but would not be hindered in her human obligation to check on the elderly woman.

She arrived at the house. No answer as she pounded on the doors and windows calling her name. She checked with the neighbors. No one had seen nor heard from her. They never did. The driver called 911 for an ambulance and sent it to her address in grave concern. She returned briefly to work to check in and returned again a while later to the scene where officers and EMT professionals were pulling her from her home on a gurney. Alive!

The lady had fallen and lay injured on her floor for days. The lady asked who had called in her favor which saved her life. Emergency professionals told her the Dominos people. Her odd diet and brief daily interactions saved her life. Her prayers obviously heard. The Dominos delivery person was seemingly driven by divine opportunity or perhaps a vehicle in answering the prayers of another.

I love these stories of the tangible symphony of the transfer, receipt, and delivery of divine happenstance. I wonder if my little requests of selfish nature are clouding the airways. I wonder if they are of any importance or if my little shallow prayers are still working out these spiritual muscles. Maybe I can simply try to become aware of my intention behind them, who they serve, and for the greater good of whom. Is there a sliding value scale of the prayers God handles? I also realize sometimes the answer is “no.” Sometimes it is “not now.” It is still good for me.

I don’t know exactly if God does parking. I like to think he may have someone else handle that for him. I don’t know. I do however think he likes pizza.

The bes' day ebber!

Best days; I have had a few. I have been blessed to have done many things, gone many places, and met some really cool people. Those ingredients definitely can contribute to the recipe of some spectacular days.


I remember the day got accepted to the American Team to travel the country. I remember my TV debut. I remember driving off the lot in my first sports car. I remember seeing my work in print for the first time. Those were some really great days! I no longer have nor do those things.

I remember my graduation day from High School. I remember my graduation from beauty school. I remember days when I completed a long task and got recognized, certified, or the “atta-boys” I thought were so important. They were...then.

I also remember the first day my father told me he loved me. I was 21. There were more following. I remember when my wife agreed to marry me. We took a limo around town celebrating the fact that “this guy” got “that girl”. I remember hearing “I’m pregnant”; the kind you want to hear. I remember when she arrived. I remember when my son arrived. We became a whole family. I remember hearing news like, “She’s okay, the test came back negative”, or “the financing went through, we can keep our house”. Indeed these were “the best of days.” Gifts mind you. But we have many more.

Yesterday, a Saturday, my day started as most of mine do, not sleeping in and taking care of the family needs. That’s okay. I am an early riser. My son had basketball practice and my daughter was venturing out with a friend feeding her own interests.

My son plays well...for a kid who is short and slight. He is not well rehearsed in the game, but makes up for it in heart (what some may call hyper). I often read to allow me to focus on drowning out three hundred drumming basketballs being awkwardly bounced. I glance up whenever my son has the ball or it is his turn. When they play a scrimmage, the book closes. My son glances to the bleachers flashes me a smile. I return it with a “thumbs up!” He smiles bigger and returns to the game. He shoots, misses, and gets a thumbs up! Again smiling, he returns his focus to the game–both of us proud of the other.

Some of the other parents berate and yell game strategies and their disappointments at these fledgling athletes. Their children look around for reassurance in a public setting to find little or none there unless a score is made. I don’t get it–they’re seven years old.

The game ended. My son made a basket. I shared how proud I was of how he played. He didn’t win though. It didn’t matter. He was jazzed and we had bonding time ahead! He was panting as a pro athlete would, proud of his participation and accomplishment, satisfied of his performance of the day. His day could end there and he would be happy.

“You hungry son?”

“Yep, but Dad I want the place that has the pancakes and Hi-C!”

“That’s what I was thinking pal!”

“This is the bes’ day ebber!!” he shouted. Loudly.

The game’s loss forgotten as his focus was on syrup and Hi-C, and oh yeah, they make their donuts fresh, from scratch! We always get one to go!

Tired as I was from a food coma and an early rise to endure a bit of percussive thunder, I wanted a little sofa-surfing “dad-time” but was reminded of something. The new Lego set my son got the night before awaiting my plastic toy architectural prowess.

We set the dining room table with the protective mat, place the mini bricks of aggravation into their respective piles and proceeded.

“Wow Dad! You are Awesome!!!” (Well the directions helped a bit, but I will take the ribbon!)

After an hour or so, a bowl full of Skittles and a Capri sun, our mission was accomplished. The sugar fueled venture concluded in a few battle scenes taking place in our dining room until energy was spent. My son crashed on his bean bag chair in his room, newly constructed toy in hand, smile on his face in front of SpongeBob. His room destroyed–evidence of a level 4 bes’ day ebber!

An evening at a friends’ house, videogames, and pizza conclude the day’s itinerary. I asked him in the car on the way home, “Did you have a good time son?” He replied again in sleepy satisfaction, “The bes’ day ebber!”

Today. Early rise again. Coffee as the family lie in slumber. Giada DeLaurentis showing her cooking prowess on the streets of Capri. Time for church. The twenty minute drive accompanied by some beautiful music perfect for a sunny crisp morning. Great sermon. I went alone. Family slept in and went later. More good Dad time.

I studied my studies, went out for one of the best Vanilla Chai Teas in the city and returned home to spend time with family. Some couch time with the wife. She told me how much she liked our home. She also liked my recent paint job I did in the living room. I smiled. It is nice to be appreciated. I shared my Chai with her. I have her liking tea now. The dog got a bath. We went shopping for the kids’ valentines. We talked in the car. I went for groceries for school lunches as my wife returned to the kids. They were happy and doing kid stuff. I took out the trash and noticed the sun setting. The temperature here was actually pleasant for the first time in a while. The sunset beckoned. I donned my iPod headphones, put on some inspiring music and took a lap.

A wave of strong gratitude came over me to remind me once again that I am blessed, I am loved, I am lucky, and I am most thankful to have been given the grace to realize this. The years I missed these moments because I was too busy being “cool”. Too busy “making it”. Too blind.

There were no certificates today. There were no crowds or cameras. No awards or honors.

It was the bes’ day ebber!

Drive Thru Greetings

This one has been marinating for a while. I typically will become inspired to write, collect my thoughts or views, and while the passion is stirring, I will put finger to keyboard. Not in this case. I decided to put my observational skills to work.

I have really made it a new life practice to become an observer. You may not know I am watching, but I am. It’s a really fun show out there. Something is always going on–something we can learn from or be entertained by. I think that type of vantage point presents itself in my writing. In observing I can steep myself into the flow of what is going on around me, but as if on a raft in a river, I am not in control of the flow, but I can dip my toe in the water as I watch what unfurls around me awaiting what may lie ahead around the next bend.

I first was struck by my newest quandary as I went through a local drive thru. Initially I thought the type of business (a fast food joint-I was getting a breakfast sandwich) would be significant evidence and support to my topic, but that is where I decided to let this one simmer, or marinate if you will.

The greeting was mechanical and rehearsed offering me a selection of something in which I had no interest. It was not human and thus forgivable to me. The human that finally spoke behind the metal screen confirmed my order, mentioned my fee, and then asked me “to move for...”. They always cut off the ending, but I knew the drill.

The robotic routine of the "money taker" already had him in mid-dialogue as he was taking the order of the car behind me while reaching for my precious five dollar bill. He then grunted my amount,took my money, and dropped my change in my hand. His furrowed brow held his eyes that barely met mine. They were not warm. They were tired and alone. A man, a cash register, a headset, trapped in a small box. He missed an opportunity to make contact beyond his confines. “Thanks, you have a great day”, I mentioned as I smiled and proceeded.

My food was waiting on me and “efficiently” pressed into my hand that was just emerging from my window. I guess this is commendable behavior when service should take no longer than 30 seconds. I was given a “Thanks” through unsmiling lips. I replied, “Tha...”, the sliding glass door slid shut. Next!

Hmmm. Okay I will put customer service aside. In businesses that often have annual turnover in their staffing well over one hundred percent, I guess I didn’t expect a hug upon arrival and departure, but it left me wondering is this the norm. Is this where a lot of human contact and interaction is being reduced to? Well, kinda.

I do indeed have people I encounter at certain establishments, as well as friends’ homes in which I feel like I am a celebrity. Like I am loved, or at least appreciated. I will even take tolerated at times. I think we all have those people that make us want to regularly return to where they are. Why? Because when they say “Good morning”, they mean it. When they say “thank you”, you know they feel gratitude. When they ask “how are you”, you know they really care and want to know. The words are genuine and organic.

In my observational pause prior to writing this, I noticed how many instances I encountered “Drive Thru Greetings” from many different people and places. Greetings that left me thinking I would prefer silence to a hollow and rehearsed sub-acknowledgement of my existence. “Did I really need to turn down the stereo for that!?”

I remember one time when dining with my family; we were enjoying time out at a fancy restaurant. Our waitress arrived apparently hurried and exasperated. She made miniscule eye contact and exhaled her “may I take your order?” We ordered. She never looked up other than to nod at the next person to prompt them into ordering. At the end my father asked with a smile, “Do you like your job here?” She replied, “Yeah...sure.” He said, “Well why don’t you let your face in on it?” A smile does help.

I wonder how often we miss an opportunity to make someone’s day by recognizing them. How often do we miss an opportunity to validate someone’s presence by a smile? How genuine are the greetings and closures we bestow upon those we encounter? Don’t we deserve more than grunts, nods, and a nanosecond of pulling our eyes away from a phone or text to engage someone?

I have found through my recent observation, I can change someone’s state with a smile. I create smiles by humbly allowing people to proceed in front of me in line. I can make kids’ giggle with a goofy face. I am on continual alert for opportunities to make someone’s day. All of these people will light up, even if a little bit, and from that, I in turn gain joy. The joy replenishes my ability to continue my efforts. Interestingly too, the more sad, melancholy, or alone I feel, I have found through this practice, the negative emotion leaves me that much sooner. Weird. (But I like it!)

If I ask you “How are you”, I really care. If I say “Good morning”, I want you to have one. If I say, “have a great day”, indeed I hope that is what happens to you. If I say “travel safe”, I truly want your journey unobstructed. And they say that “Thank you” can be one of the most precious prayers you offer to God thanking him for a gift divine. If it is good enough for God, it is good enough for me, so if you hear me say “thank you”..., well you know where I am going. The intention behind our brief greeting is like saying a brief prayer for that person. Hollow greeting, hollow prayers.

When you encounter people, try speaking your greetings from a place of genuineness, and listen to the responses with your heart. Sometimes it only takes 10 seconds to make someone’s day and to make them feel recognized.

And to all of you now, “Have a great day, travel safe, and most of all, Thank you!”