The Future Of Crotchety

Call it secular grace. A moment when the cosmos rips itself a tad and permits one a glance beyond the time-space mirage into the future. I'm working the register the other night when a woman comes up with two boys, one about 10 the other about 8. She plunks the pile of books (heavy on Star Wars kids tomes) on the counter and immediately turns her back to peruse the tchotchkes in the queue line along with the older boy. The younger one leans his elbows on the counter and watches as I zap each book with the magic bar-code scanner gun/wand. One of those young boys infinitely curious about the rude mechanics of life. He doesn't say a word, simply watches a guy at work, with all the fascination such a thing conjures for a kid. I finish and wait patiently for the woman and the older boy to pluck one last impulse item. The younger kid just stares at me, no longer full of wonder at my actions. Ten fifteen maybe twenty seconds pass before the little kid has enough. In a wizened tone of voice heavy with years of frustrated waiting no way the kid could have experienced yet, he proclaims, "The guy doesn't have all night, grandma."

Far beyond the somersaults my mind does at being called "the guy," and light years beyond the happy face I put on when grandma turns around, sans tchotchkes, and completes the transaction, my mind dances with delight at meeting a kindred soul--another crotchety middle-aged man, embodied in the soul of this cute little kid. Ah, rest easy, I tell myself. Life as you know it will go on just fine long after you're gone. By the time this kid is my age I'll be six feet under but resting comfortably, definitely not spinning, because I now know my spirit of annoyed frustration at the sundry minuscule nuisances of life will live on. Out of fear at not wanting to creep the kid out and thrust him into full-blown old man curmudgeon on the spot, I restrain my natural instincts to give him a fist bump, wink, and say, with full empathy, "Brother."

But God that kid's put upon declaration to his grandma that I don't have time for all this felt like a warm slap on the back from my guardian angel. I know I know I know.

Grace

I remember it like it happened two hours ago, but it was more than a dozen years ago. Working in a bookstore, mired in some kind of a funk, and then out of nowhere, a woman walked by me perched at the register, on her way out of the store. Trailing her was a little girl, maybe six or seven, lost in her own world, not rushing to keep up with her mother. With no acknowledgment of my presence, just as she passed me, oblivious to everything in the world outside of herself, the little girl jumped up, executed some quick ballerina move, landed and kept on walking out the door. Instantly my blues evaporated, and I smiled deeply, in gratitude more than anything. A moment of grace indeed.

Similarly, the last two days have been long, tense slogs at work, but both days, from totally unexpected directions, appeared a couple small moments of grace, nothing as magical as a little ballerina in the middle of a mall, just smiles and nice words, but each helped light up a couple of dim days. 

It makes no sense. You can spend days, weeks, searching for a little grace, and nothing. Other days, just when you seem to need it the most, grace abounds. Gracious me.

The Dillards-Somebody Touched Me