I was getting a snack at the Quick Stop while Bruce pumped gas. When we go to that town, the place where we generally get fuel is on the main highway and pretty busy. An older model pickup pulled up to the pump next to ours and a lanky young fellow in a black cowboy hat got out to fill the rig. “Bronc rider,” I said to myself. My opinion was enhanced as he entered the building and picked up several kinds of snacks and a large drink. That lean, well-conditioned body and confident walk gave him away. I was back in our vehicle when he came out. The pickup had a rodeo sticker and he took his time settling in, probably placing his purchases in easy reach. License plate said Wisconsin. I wondered where he was headed. PRCA rodeo no doubt, having come that far, and likely living out of his pickup. A roper would have been trailering so, obviously, rough stock.
If you think I assumed a lot for a short encounter it’s because one of my grandsons is a bareback rider. They all look pretty much alike and move the same way unless they are sporting a cast or crutches. And really, if one pays attention, it’s not that hard to read people. I get a lot of practice because Bruce is a shopper and I go into big box stores only under extreme pressure. Unless I brought a book to read, my parking lot hobby is people watching.
That couple walking out of the store seems to be arguing. The guy on his way in has spent his life ranching. He’s got fence pliers in a belt pouch and his gloves have a hole in the thumb. Hat is sweat stained, and he walks like he’d rather be horseback. Lady getting into her car has had her nails done and her clothes are stylish. Maybe has an office job. That mom with the stair-step kids looks frazzled. I remember those days. But the older boy is doing his best to help with the baby. She’s obviously raising them right.
We go through our days in a daze. Hurrying to the next item on our agenda, worried about family members, what the doctor’s report will show, or how to make the money stretch to payday. Or just stumbling along looking at our phones. Many of us feel isolated and abandoned, partly because we don’t really look at one another and few people really look at us. I wonder what might change if parents asked kids about their classmates and listened to how opinions are formed.
“Nobody likes Dylan. He’s such a dork.” Well, what don’t they like, and what makes him a dork? Do you know anything about his family? Does he have any friends, and do you think he might be lonely? Have you ever talked to him? What did he say, and did he look happy to have a conversation?
If Suzy makes a lot of mean remarks about other girls, do you think she might be jealous of them, or afraid she won’t be popular? How do you feel about yourself when you’re with people like that? Do you worry that they might say mean things about you if you don’t agree with them? You might learn a lot about your kids while teaching them to really notice people.
I try to make eye contact and speak to people on the street and can usually tell from their expressions and body language if they’ll speak back. What are you telling people about yourself without knowing it?
Meet me here next week and meanwhile do your best to notice. Somebody might like it.