Crappy Minivan

Recently on a Friday night, I was driving from Columbus to Akron with my daughter to pick up a friend of hers for the weekend. And I pass this really old white minivan. Dented. Rusted. I think in its day it was a Ford. Or Chrysler. Hard to tell. But I thought to myself, "What a crappy ride." Then, as I do, I thought harder. And deeper. The dude driving has a name. I'll call him Ray. No, Leon. In the passanger's seat was Shirley. As I glanced again, I noticed two little figures in the seats behind them. Tasha and Rieanna. (Stay with me here.) So, they aren't a crappy ride. They are a family. Where are they going? Or, maybe they're coming back from somewhere. Yeah, that's it. They just came from visiting, ah, Shirley's uncle. In Canton. He's been aweful lonely since his wife died last year of breast cancer. They would have stayed longer but Leon needs to get to work in the morning. At 6am. I sat a little lower in my seat. Why do I judge people so quickly? And by what they drive on the freeway? Please. I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw them trailing behind. I felt like crap. Everyone tells a story. All are complex. All are valuable. Yet we whiz by in our Walmart world behavior and never take the time nor effort to really get to know one another. Time and attention can be like a gift to someone.

Really, everyone.

Then, suddenly, Leon charges past me on the right. I think, "Slow down you idiot! You have Shirley and the girls in the car!"

Moron.