Lisa and I spent a wonderful July 4th holiday, celebrating both our nation's independence and her birthday, in the St. Louis area. Since Lisa is from the area, and since most of her family resides there still, it was a short family vacation. We stayed with Lisa's sister and brother-in-law, Kristy and Bill Hartman. We lounged by the pool and enjoyed the hot tub, all in the natural environs of country living. It was a great visit.
On Saturday, we attended the Cardinal's baseball game. (Both Lisa and I are long-time Cardinal fans...painful as that may be in Reds nation.) The seats we used were complimentary from Kristy's business, (Some of you are aware of my rant against the money and craze that lies in the professional sports world, though I admit to giving the organization plenty of money.) That rant will come at another time.
At the ballgame, we sat about eleven rows behind first base, in foul ball territory. The couple who sat next to Lisa did not say a word to us. In fact, the woman who sat directly next to my wife spent a few minutes, before the game started, actually clipping her fingernails. No apologies for the one that flew in Lisa's direction and actually hit her arm. In front of us sat a couple from Tennessee, with their very young daughter.We interacted a bit with them during the game, sharing baseball park Swizzlers (it's like licorice, but not quite). The mother spoke no English, and looked to be considerably younger than her husband. It was her first bite of Swizzlers as well.
The young lady who sat on the other end of our foursome knew absolutely everything about Cardinal baseball, and was eager to share information, but did not interact beyond that. The family that sat behind us carried on conversations throughout the game...something about an upcoming trip...but never interacted with anyone around them. In front of us, a family exhibited very close relationships, but only within their small group.
Isn't it interesting that the greatest degree of interaction at the game took place between us and a couple from Tennessee, she of Philippine descent, speaking no English, with her very young daughter, who looked remarkably like her mother, and he a forty-something, outwardly successful and very protective provider. The daughter was a true beauty. She turned and watched us early on, so we began to interact with her. In time, we communicated with the parents, wondering if we could give her some of the Swizzlers that we had purchased. (She and her mother tried some, by the way, but seemingly found the taste a bit overpowering.)
People can be nice even at the ballpark. Even within the maddening 42,000 crush of humanity and the mad rush to traffic jams afterward, people can be kind.
I sincerely hope that the young daughter of the couple in front of us remembers that there are nice people around, and that sometimes they share their Swizzlers. I hope that her experience was made better by interacting with the weird couple who sat behind her and played with her throughout the game. I sincerely hope that it plants a seed and that, years from now, she might share her Swizzlers with a stranger who sits in front of her, heightening the experience of kindness for that stranger. (I should add, by the way, that she repeatedly tried to share from her sippy cup with Lisa, much to the amusement of everyone around us.)
It is interesting, too, how others around treated one another. It was as if walls separated families, couples and persons from one another. There was scant little kindness. People did not, by and large, go out of their way to be nice.
But kindness shone in the face of the little girl in front of us. No matter what language one speaks, or from where persons come, there is always a value to being nice and doing things that are kind. Upset the status quo. Disrupt the usual. Shake the foundations of the walls that divide us. Be nice. Be kind.
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