My WAITING Bag

I remember packing a small suitcase - in readiness - before each of my children was born. It held clothing and toiletries I might need in the hospital, in case we had to rush off quickly and I had no time to pack. (I probably packed another bag with clothing for the baby... for Terry to bring to the hospital the day we brought the new baby home.) Those two bags would have sat there WAITING for weeks, as all three were born well after they were "due"...














These days I have a different kind of WAITING BAG - one packed and ready to grab in case I have to go spend time WAITING. I use it for doctor's appointments or if I expect to spend time sitting in the car for a while. (I'm not the most patient of people - and WAITING is hard for me, if I have nothing to do.) In my teaching days, my WAITING BAG contained file folders crammed with papers to grade - there was always an over-abundance of those! But I no longer teach, so my WAITING BAG contains knitting, a few magazines and sudoku puzzles, as well as a notebook and paper, should I suddenly remember something important when I am sitting and waiting.

My father would have puzzled over the concept of needing something to read while waiting. He would have looked around and noticed things - or started a conversation with someone sitting near him in a waiting area. If nobody were close by, he probably would have moved to sit beside someone. He loved to talk to people. He also knew several languages, and enjoyed practicing them whenever opportunity permitted.

Before long, he would have discovered something in common with the stranger he had just met - and they would be chatting away like old friends.

As a teenager, I found this so embarrassing that I would often sit on the other side of the room. Later on, when he told me about the person he had been talking to... ("Why didn't you come over and join us?") ... I would sometimes wish I had!

Did my father have a curiosity about the world and about people ... that I lack? Or have times changed so much that we no longer view strangers as friends we haven't yet met?

Have I spent so many years warning kids not to talk to strangers that the concept has rubbed off on me, too?! Or did I - long ago - decide to be different from my parents... and the habit has stuck?!