Idon’t even know who she was.
A tiny girl, with her mom. They were sitting at a corner table in Gatti’s the other evening.
It was a Tuesday, affectionately referred to in the weekly newspaper biz as “Armageddon warmed over day.”
My wife and I, both dead tired and kinda out of sorts, if you want to know the truth, had come in to eat before going home to our usual Tuesday night routine, get mauled by our border collies then collapse into sleep.
We had sat there, glumly, eating, watching whatever breathless announcer it was on whatever sports channel the big-screen TV was tuned to.
The little girl and her mom had just gone to the buffet. Mom got a couple of pizza slices, as directed by the daughter, and they were on the way back to their table when their paths randomly crossed with Sue’s and mine, as we headed to the door.
And the child, whom I know I’d never seen before or since, broke into a radiant smile, came over to me, threw her arms around my knees—that’s up as far as she came—and gave me a big hug.
And my day changed. I broke into a big smile. So did my wife. So did the girl’s mom and so did most of the people in the restaurant.
I searched the vast repository of words, phrases and quotes in my finely-honed mind and selected an appropriate selection from Socrates or Shaw: “ Uh, buh, duh, blub, glik, um, dib, ummmumh, th-thank you sweetie.”
We left, still beaming, got in the car and arrived home, still beaming.
It changed the dynamics of the rest of the evening.
(Warning, here comes a little religion: You know, Jesus told us the way to the kingdom of heaven is to become like a little child—Matthew 18:3. Okay, I’m done. Back to the column.)
I started thinking about an old song, one of those that runs over you like a bus, emotionally, the first time you hear it.
Country song. Called “The Chain of Love,” sung by Clay Walker.
It’s simple, tells about three good deeds that turn out to be related even though no one who performs them knows that.
It has a repeated challenge “Don’t let the chain of love end with you.”
Now, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I don’t recommend we go around encouraging our tiny children to hug strange men in restaurants or anywhere else. Far too dangerous.
Too many bad people out there. Course, the bad people will win if we never get to know any of the good people because we never make any attempts to be part of a “chain of love.”
Don’t make too much of what follows because this sure isn’t about me. It just illustrates my point.
Couple of nights later I was in another restaurant and the high school-age girl running the register was having a lot of trouble getting my to-go order right, kept apologizing, asked for supervisor’s help. She and I were getting frustrated.
Then I thought about that little girl at the pizza place and my hug. I also thought about how many times this girl before me probably has to deal with unpleasant, or worse, people in the course of her job.
She finally got my order correct, probably thinking I’d scowl and gripe at her. Instead, I gave her a little tip, smiled, said “this is for trying so hard,” and left.
The dynamics of that place changed, too. Everyone behind the counter suddenly seemed to have smiles on their faces.
I walked out thinking there was a “chain of love” going on here and I hope that young lady continued it somehow.
As I got into the parking lot I wondered “wouldn’t it be nice if there were millions of chains of love going on right now?”
Then it hit me. You know, I’ll bet there are!
Let’s keep them going.
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