My dad died Nov. 1, 1980. I’ve told you that and about him. This time I’ve got a story for you that few people know. Bonus fright included.
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Published August 16, 2018
Danny had been on my mind lately. The reasons, like life, were a series of seemingly random events and circumstances that somehow worked together to point in a certain direction. Then, on Monday morning, I got the call telling me that he was gone.
Oof, as Danny often said. Oof, as if reacting to a body blow, a gut punch. That’s how it felt.
I’m writing this during my private candlelight vigil for Remy Daniel Miller II, whose funeral Mass is six hours (and two time zones) away as I begin this remembrance of the friend I met during our freshman year of high school. What would he think, I wonder, if he knew that my apartment building prohibits candles, forcing me to improvise with a battery-powered version and a Shutterstock image? My guess is he’d allow it.
Why had Danny been on my mind lately? For starters, two other high school friends — both of them one year my senior — visited me five weeks ago, stirring up memories that began flooding back a few weeks earlier when they told me they’d booked their flight. Flipping through yearbooks put a lot of names and faces back on my radar. And around that time, I reconnected with a classmate, the one who called me with the bad news Monday.
While Donald Trump is being inaugurated, I’ll be watching “Hidden Figures.” Here’s why.
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Photo by Iakov Filimonov
No, not the song, but if I’ve put it in your head, you’re welcome.
Not long ago I ordered a meal from a person who smiled and was cheerful throughout the transaction. It was late at night, and her job can’t be all that fun, yet her demeanor, not unlike that of the server in the photo above, was such that it seemed like she derived so much joy from serving people.
Soon after, I found myself thinking about something that hadn’t crossed my mind in a while.
More often than I’d care to admit, I’ve taken people in the service industry for granted. I see others who are worse offenders than I, but that doesn’t take me off the hook. It’s wrong to treat someone like a servant just because they are in a service type of job. And in terms of a test of a person’s character, there are few things as revealing as the way someone treats the wait staff at a restaurant.
What I found during my times when I was out of work, and even for weeks after returning to the ranks of the employed, is I felt the most empathy for people in such jobs at the times when I was at my most vulnerable. When things were tough for me. When I would have been happy to have any job. Those times taught me not to take anything for granted. I saw people working the checkout line or the service counter or answering the phones as real people, someone trying to make a living, feed their family, someone with goals and wishes and challenges in their lives, and struggles I didn’t know anything about.
Everyone is going through something. Try to be tender with them, try to empathize, especially if their job is to wait on you and serve you. As a friend of mine says, be kind.
I’ll try to do better myself when times are not so tough and I forget what it’s like.
Photo by Iakov Filimonov