So I saw this waitress the other night. She is an attractive woman and looks to be about my age. She didn’t wait on us but she has before. We go to this restaurant a couple times a month.
Last night she came by our booth and stopped as she saw Evan counting change, learning the relationship between quarters, dimes, and nickels; counting by fives and tens. She commented on how she did this, too, evenings with her little grand daughter.
A short while later I saw a young woman come in and take a seat, obviously not a customer. She was an attractive young girl, a tick or two on either side of 20. Draped in $300 worth of clothes rather than $30, she would have probably been media-approved stunning. But, she wasn’t. She was in sweatpants and a nondescript t-shirt-- the pants low enough and the top riding up enough to reveal a soft roll at the waist of this small-framed young girl.
Turned out she was the daughter of that waitress, there to get some money from mom, a mom who obviously cared. She had a problem. She needed money.
What was striking in the exchange were the facial expressions, the eyes, and the interplay between a caring mother and her dependent daughter. The face of a mother that hurt with caring, concern, and down-right worry. The face of a daughter that didn't want to see her mother pained. Eyes of a mother that, when her hands dug out the small stack of tips, showed concern for the significant loss of take-home pay that was about to take place. Eyes of a daughter, looking down, that didn't want to be standing in a restaurant taking her mother's tips. Eyes of a mother that followed a young daughter as she turned, cash in hand, and headed out the door-- likely to an eventual destination the mother knew all too well and couldn't recommend.
I don’t know these people in any capacity beyond that moment, but their exchange, their regard for one another, it was a short story told in 2 minutes and without words. And, perhaps the entire story is nothing like I want to believe and only a fiction in my mind, observed from a disconnected distance. But, whatever it was that I thought I saw, it was a story that made me appreciate, once again, how fortunate I am to have a capable daughter. It reminded me of my great good fortune to be able to provide my daughter with the means to reach far. To have a daughter with the body, mind, and psyche to accommodate learning, exploring, and becoming capable and independent. To have a daughter that will one day, with just the least bit of luck, enjoy the immeasurable luxury of choice. And that, I’d have to say, is the real meaning of success.
Beautiful.
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