We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.
~Herman Melville
There he was, turning the corner of Hawley and Main Street like clockwork. His red hair seemed to catch the sunlight, giving his head a soft candle-flame glow. He caught my eye, and up went his arm in its usual wave. It wasn’t a fast flash of a wave or a flickering of the fingers. It was the kind of wave you see when children know the answer to the teacher’s question. It was the wave I give my husband when he’s at the opposite end of the grocery aisle. As usual, I waved back and gave him a warm smile.
“Do you know that guy, Mom?” asked my son from the back seat. “He seems to know everybody.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know his name, but he’s very friendly. I see him walking almost every day.” It was true. No matter the weather, the man was out. He kept a good pace, considering his advanced age, and covered a lot of territory. At this time of day, we often passed each other at the intersection near the school.
We were relatively new to this town. Having moved from a larger city, I wasn’t used to waves from strangers. Actually, where we were from, people hardly acknowledged each other. We simply bustled by each other, heads down, minding our own business.
Perhaps that’s why I enjoyed these daily waves. It felt good to be noticed and receive that message of “Hello!” On days when we didn’t happen to pass each other, I missed him and wondered if he was all right. The next day, I’d find myself driving with only one eye on the road. It was a happy reunion when I’d spot him, and I’d wave first in my eagerness.
I, too, enjoyed walking. I often went out in the evenings after the dinner dishes were done. I’d stroll along, enjoying the twilight call of the robins perched high on rooftops. I treasured the solitude, but one night my thoughts traveled to “The Waver,” as my children called him. I wondered if I could be bold enough to wave at people I didn’t know. I wanted to give it a try, but I hesitated. I’ll feel silly, I thought to myself. I continued walking, faster now, as though arriving home would put an end to the temptation. I stared at the sidewalk and watched my shoes take step after step. I heard a car approaching.
I felt like my head was attached to a string, and a puppeteer was giving me a yank. I made eye contact with the person in the passenger seat. The puppeteer gave my right arm a tug. I smiled and waved.
The woman’s face softened, and she waved back. I was a little stunned. They do this here! I reminded myself. It’s okay. It’s actually kind of cool! I waved to everyone I saw the rest of the way home.
That was the day I became a “waver.” Walking really is nicer when combined with waving. My favorite return waves come from little ones in car seats. I don’t do the full-arm wave, though; being on the shy side, I give a more casual greeting. But it’s sincere, and that’s what counts.
I’m sure everyone at some point in their lives wonders if they’ve made any impact on the world. If the original “waver” is out there wondering, I can answer that for him. “You have, sir. You don’t know it, but you have.” We don’t have to change the world drastically to improve it. It’s enough to help sweeten it a little.
— Marianne Fosnow —