I'm Not a Hippie
Often lost on our culture is a connection with people of different generations. After this subtle interaction, I'll never forget the importance again.
The conversation started at Whole Foods when a 73-year old man stopped me to read the words on the back of my tank-top: "We don't just do it, we do it right" he voiced, then responded, "That's great!"
"I got it at Goodwill," I shrugged.
And so it began—for over an hour, a 73-year old renaissance man and 29-year old wannabe renaissance man stood talking at the corner of the soup and vitamin aisles, next to the on-sale potato chips and deeply discounted chopped onions.
The topics were diverse: philosophy, theology, astrology, ancient history, great world civilizations, the strength of the Irish mind, and one-dimensional tyrannical leaders.
When my legs felt tired, his didn't—or, if they did, at least he didn't feel the need to let me know.
So, we continued, no topic seeming off limits: socialism, the resurrection of Christ, and—solemnly—his short life-expectancy.
But unlike so many people, he didn't have ulterior motives in the conversation. He just wanted to converse. He jumped from topic to topic, seamlessly, and I followed suit—not worrying about proving points or changing minds. It was just conversation, and I listened about as much as I spoke. So did he, in his two-and-a-half-times-my-age-wisdom. When he brought up a failed presidential candidate from the '60s, I just shook my head in agreement and listened.
And though I learned from him, my favorite part of the conversation came after I exposited my literal interpretation of the Garden of Eden story from the Bible:
"So you're a believing Christian?" he asked, somewhat surprised. "Yes," I said, smiling. "I would not have guessed that." I chuckled. "You look like a hippie..." I laughed. "..but I guess you have your reasons for that." I laughed harder.
His honesty was lighthearted and engaging.
There I stood at Whole Foods, lost in correspondence with a delightful man with whom I would not have spoken with if I hadn't waited a second more once he'd read my shirt. A delightful conversation we wouldn't have had if I had thrown out a "Well, have a great day!" thinking I'd had places to go when I actually hadn't. A delightful opportunity I wouldn't have without taking time to listen and to encourage a man who may've felt like his heyday was long past.
But I did have it, and it was such a blessing.
It didn't really matter what his knowledge was on the topics. What his I.Q. was. That he looked much older than my beloved stepfather of the same age. Or whether or not he was witty enough to keep my interest.
What mattered is just that he was himself, and I myself.
The health that comes from engaging with all those around us is so often missed in our day and age—and I don't completely know how to rectify it. But what I do know is that I can be faithful to engage with the people placed around me. And that will continue when I grab dinner with Fred, whenever he calls me next month, and whether we talk about Uzbek missiles or Alexandrian leadership techniques—I'm look forward to enjoying that conversation, and I hope he does, too...
...even if he (incorrectly) thinks I'm a hippie.
I won't hold it against him. After all, he's old—what does he know?
