Phone call w/ Mr. C

I had a lovely exchange with a customer today. I’ll call him Mr. C. He teaches 2nd grade.  He has a class field trip scheduled for tomorrow and called to see about getting an extra ticket. Once he communicated that, he apologized for putting me on speaker phone. He explained that he had been on hold for a bit and switched it on to get some things done and now that we were both on the line, he wasn’t sure how to turn it off. I reassured him I couldn’t tell I was on speaker and that normally I could. As I put in his order, he figured it out and let me know. I congratulated him and we shared a laugh.  Still getting his order together, he asked if I was another person he’d spoken with before— gave her name. I said I wasn’t. He then asked my name and when I gave it, enthusiastically replied that I was the first person he’d spoken to when setting up the trip some months ago and how fitting it was to connect again as he was possibly buying a final ticket for it now. I was very much enjoying our exchange and agreed that it did seem fitting— almost full circle. I then gave him his order number and explained needing to take payment since the show was tomorrow. He asked me a few more questions and finally decided he’d wait until morning just to be certain he didn’t require any more tickets. I thought it wise and told him what he’d want to do when reaching out the next day. Then he said, “So you said, “Q..” And I paused, confused, silently putting the conversation on playback mode, just to be certain I hadn’t said the random letter before giving voice to my denial. “You were giving me an order number” he continued, and realization dawned. I told him I had said, “2.”  And he laughed and shared a story of paying bills with State Farm and how they would give letters as part of the order number and he didn’t understand why they did this as some letters could easily sound like others over the phone. Instantly connecting with his story, I found myself laughing, telling him I knew of what he spoke as we, in the office, encountered it all the time with names and email addresses to the point where I habitually encouraged going a step further to make sure we were typing in “S” as in “Sam” instead of “F” as in Frank, etc. He laughed. I laughed. And the conversation ended with him saying he’d reach out in the morning about the ticket. I thought of the exchange again hours later when I got home. What a lovely, unexpected connection it had been. If I end up taking his call in the morning, it’ll be awesome. But if not, then it’ll be the final person in our trio of a department. And that would be fitting, too :)

Poem: Mother’s Day 2019

You, 

who care, 

who loves, 

who gives,

who tries,

who considers the best for those who call you, 

mom, mommy, ma, mother, mama (or a variation on the title)

You, who have embarked upon and committed to 

the massive mind-body-heart-spirit-engaging adventure called, parenting.

You are extraordinary.

You are a S-hero. 

Every. Day.

Thank you. Bless you.

Snapshot of Love on a Sidewalk in Brooklyn

Pinpricks of rain picking up speed had begun to fall as the guardian and little girl exited the building. Realizing after a few short strides that he had gotten ahead of her, he glanced back. 

Looking to be about 5 or 6, bright eyed, hair swept up into a full, gorgeous puff ponytail, she was slowly moving down the sidewalk, which was lined on one side with businesses, staying as close as possible to the sliver of shelter provided by their awnings. Observing her, he smiled, and walking back, held above her head the priority mail type envelope he had been carrying in hand. 

As I passed by, she smiled up at him and the exchange made me think of loving fathers and loved little daughters.

Four on the Subway in Brooklyn

Sitting on the subway, looking over I noticed a family unit of four. A young, stylish looking mother, a little girl — possibly 4 or so, a young boy— possibly 10 or so, and a slightly older boy—maybe 13. The older boy and little girl were sitting down and playing with a squishy looking toy that, when met with the right amount of pressure, lit up. It was primarily the little girl’s toy— she was very much its guardian— but she was loosely open to suggestions from the older boy on how to play with it, and even allowed him, on occasion, to join in on the playing.  

The other boy, who stood for their entire ride, looked on and deliberately made teasing comments that, successfully, drew vocal  disagreements from the little girl. The woman, also standing, alternated between keeping an eye on them, checking her phone, and checking her hair in the subway car door reflection.

One stop before they got off, the woman moved closer to the door.  The boy that stood, at home with entertaining himself, silently danced his way to a pole closer to the same door.  His dancing brought to mind the choo-choo train step complete with alternating arms, wheel like, powering him along. As the train began slowing down, the woman held out her hand and the little girl climbed down from her seat before proffering hers. Then looking over at the still sitting older boy, the little girl, with the confidence and authority often embodied by little children called out, “Come on____!” His name, to my ear, lost in pronunciation.

Without teasing, without delay, without taking offense, just simple acquiescence that spoke volumes of him and their relationship, he got up easily and joined the party several seconds before the doors opened and they exited the car.

Early Morning Commute on a Subway Platform

Tall, older adolescent male teen (perhaps in high school), with his left hand (propeller like) on the upper back of his younger, smaller female sibling (perhaps elementary school), speedily navigating the subway platform during their early morning commute — presumably to school.  Gesture and body language brought to my mind, a closeness, and friendship— oftentimes teasing, but undoubtedly loving. She wore a sly smile and his expression seemed to say, if left entirely up to her, they’d be late.