A Bit of Motherly Wisdom

Marty, the guy I’ve been seeing socially, stopped by my workplace at noon today. We decided we’d meet and go out for a couple of subs for lunch. While he was there, I introduced him to a couple of my coworkers. A few hours later, somewhere around the middle of the afternoon, Beth, a friend and coworker, asked very discreetly why I would choose Marty over this other guy I had been dating, Jack. It was Beth who introduced me to Jack.

Jack was (and probably still is) a really nice guy. He was good-looking and had an interesting, well-paying job. To the romantic observer, he could have been my proverbial knight in shiny armor. But I knew from early on it was going to be Marty, that he was the guy. The only question I had was; would Marty want me? Anyway, I have thought about Beth’s question. I think I have at least part of the answer. It goes back in time a ways.

Eight years ago, when I was home from college in the summer following my freshman year, I ran into a guy from my high school at a mall. I did not know him very well, but I felt compelled to chat with him for a minute or two. A few days later he called and asked if I would like to go to a movie or something. I actually do not remember much about the conversation, but I recall that I declined; apparently tactlessly. My mother overheard the conversation and she did not like my demeanor.

My mother told me about this young guy who worked as a maintenance worker at Boston College back in the early 70s. While working on the Boston College campus, he met a coed who had a summer job. According to Mom, the girl and the guy worked in the same general area and over the course of several weeks this guy talked and joked with the girl. He apparently thought they were getting along pretty well, and they maybe even had a little spark between them. One evening he called the girl and asked her if she would like to go out on a real date. According to my mother, she let out a short chuckle and then said a very crass, “I don’t think so.”

My mom said that the guy realized at that moment that to the girl he was invisible, irrelevant, that he was merely the talkative maintenance man in the dirty clothes. This guy told my mother that he never forgot how that made him feel.

My mother then instructed me to not just see, but to be sensitive to the nice, friendly people who come into my life. Mom told me that if I did that, I would be better off for it, and in a small way, so would the world.

I can’t be sure, but without that talk that day eight years ago, I may never have put in the effort to get to know Marty.

By the way, the young guy was my father who for a time worked on the Boston College campus after returning from Vietnam.