i've been noticing that it seems like every single freakin' sunday as i ride home from church on the chicago bus, there's a fight. someone's yelling at someone for whatever (turn my ipod up) or the bus driver's especially pissy (turn the ipod down... i think cta bus drivers are the funniest people alive). it's always slightly more upsetting because church is usually a happy haven of goodness and then i get a 2x4 of the world's ugliness upside the head.
"can i ask you question?"
i said sure as i removed the earbuds.
"is dat a cello?"
"this?" i pointed to my guitar. "no, this is my guitar."
"ooooh. my grandson, he play de cello. he's very good. but he don' wanna play de cello no more. now he play de bass. he's very good..."
he went on and on about how great his grandson is at the cello and the bass and how he won't be in any gangs because he's going to focus on music and how he wants to attend his grandson's concert at school but he can't 'cause he has two jobs so he let his wife take the ticket... i had the pleasure of only having to give a few positive responses and nods in order to keep him talking.
i have a weird obsession for an extravert, wherein i simply love when people chat my ear off. but i wasn't just enjoying his chattiness. knowing people is such an essential to loving them. when we let ourselves be known by others, it's an invitation for them to love us. here this man was, telling me with passion about his grandson, revealing his love and appreciation for the good things in his life.
the invitation to love him, just a little bit, was a gift, given for no other reason than the fact that i had my "cello" with me on the bus.
i'm thankful for it.
