LINES

Standing in lines, I often meet new friends.

Today, at the Post Office, I was behind a well-dressed, elderly lady of African descent.

We watched a loquacious boy talking to his mother. He had thick, straight, black hair and large, heavily-lashed, black-brown eyes. She wore a pink, head scarf, indicating her Muslim faith. Quietly and patiently, with humor in her countenance, she listened to her son's questions and observations and made inaudible comments.

I soon engaged them in conversation. The six-year-old boy explained they were there to obtain his passport. His family was from Bangladesh, but the upcoming, three-month, summer vacation would be his first visit. With some embarrassment, he said he couldn't speak "Banglei." I assured him, after his trip, he would speak it fluently. His mother explained that she had not been home for nine years. Her other child, a fourteen-year-old daughter, had been to Bangladesh twice. Soon, she was joined by her husband, who had completed the transaction on behalf of his son.

As we observed the child, the elderly lady spoke of how the boy reminded her of her daughter as a child. She said, "My daughter asked constant questions. She always wanted to know more, and I never said no to her." Obviously, the woman had encouraged her daughter inquisitiveness and was proud of her professional accomplishments.

Farther down the line, I watched an African male and his Caucasian wife being loving and affectionate with one another. In an infant seat, he carried their infant daughter. She was also posing for her passport photograph. The child's mother was Canadian, and the couple planned to visit the mother's family.

I was smiling on leaving the Post Office. I love our human family.