First of all, I was surprised that the bank was open. I stopped by that location the day before. According to the signage on the door, the bank closed at 4:00 p.m. I was standing in front of the door a few minutes before 4:00 and the door was locked. Consequently, I didn’t know if it was still an operable bank.
I subsequently went to the drive through. According to signage on the door, the drive through was open until 6:00 p.m. It wasn’t open either. It was probably wishful thinking on my part to stop back by that bank location yesterday morning. If by chance it were open, it would cut several miles off of my commute. The next closest location was about six miles away.
I’m sure there was a shocked look on my face as I walked through the door of the bank. I was expecting the door to be locked. To my surprise, there was a large lobby and several people in line waiting to talk with one of the two bank tellers. I suppose that is the term they still use. I have never thought about it before, but what is a teller? When you stop to think about it, it is a strange term.
Getting back to the two men at the bank, I didn’t get the name of either. It was obviously an oversight on my part, but when you’re standing in line, time is limited. As our conversation was ending, the discussion seemed blog worthy to me. In fact, I asked the guy with his daughter permission to get their picture for my blog. I suggested he step forward so the picture didn’t include his daughter’s face or a frontal view of his. He verbally gave me permission to use the picture and to share the story.
I could tell that the little girl is a much-loved child. I could ascertain that from observing the interaction between the man and his daughter as they waited in line in front of me at the bank. I was in line immediately behind them. Watching their interaction provided me a flashback to my relationship with my daughter at that age.
I routinely took Andrea with me anywhere I went on the weekends. The workweek was filled with lots of activities. Consequently, opportunities for the two of us to pal around together outside our home were limited. Weekends were different. She was a daddy’s girl. For that matter, thirty-eight years later, she still is. My life is greatly enriched by her presence.
She was probably a little older than the little girl in the stroller when she started accompanying me to the Johnson City landfill on Saturday mornings to dispose of our trash. Our next stop was always Dairy Queen. Consequently, Andrea was always up for the adventure. Besides that, how could she not want to spend time with her dad?
I could tell it was also true for the man standing in line in front of me that his daughter was a daddy’s girl. He tilted the stroller back so he could look at her face. I was touched by his interaction with his her. I had the thought that the man had no idea how quickly the years will fly by and his little girl would move beyond those childhood years.
As I stood there, the child’s eyes locked on me. I smiled in her direction and her focus didn’t vary. I wanted to squat down on her level and look into her eyes and talk to her, but opted to stay standing. Isn’t it true that most parents warn their children against stranger danger? I might be overstepping my boundaries?
It is a sad indictment against our society, but the harm that comes to children doesn’t usually come from strangers. I moved beyond that thought to simply engaging the father in conversation. I said to him: “Your daughter is absolutely precious!”
He said “Thank you” as he leaned down toward his daughter’s face and said: “She is one”. He held up his index finger to denote her age. He even said to her: “You’re one aren’t you”. It was a rhetorical question. He didn’t expect an answer.
He voluntarily added: “My wife wants four children. That seems like a lot to me”. He went on to add, “My wife is one of four children and she wants to duplicate that family size for our own.” He thoughtfully said: “I’m not sure I get the final vote.” I may eventually find myself surrounded by a house full of girls and get pushed a little farther down the line in having a real vote.” I added, “You’ll have a say. It just may not be the majority vote.”
The guy standing in line behind me joined in on our conversation. He said: “I’ve got four children. I was one of four children and my wife was one of four children”. He then concurred with the first dad who said: “Four children seem like a lot to me.” From the standpoint of experience, he fully agreed.
After the guy and his daughter in front of me exited the conversation to visit with a teller, I played twenty questions with the guy behind me. He, too, seemed like a really nice guy. His shared that his oldest is now 14 ½ and seemingly knows everything. His youngest is five-years-old. As it turns out the second guy lives in Dripping Springs. He is in the Belterra neighborhood. We talked about the new shopping center filled with more places to eat than you can find in Dripping Springs proper. Interestingly, he was very familiar with Henly. His son plays select baseball at the Field of Dreams.
All My Best!
Don