WHEN I WAS A BOY, my father would take my brother and me for a swim in the lake in the town where I now live. Then it was a farming community of about 3,500. Today it is a commuting community of about 10,500. From my boyhood spot in the back seat of the two-toned 1957 Chevy, I noticed how my father would wave to other drivers we passed as we made our way to the lake. Most would respond with a simple wave. Others would raise the four fingers curved around the top of the steering wheel as their acknowledgment; some would raise a finger to the brim of their baseball hat.
When we’d turn the corner at the top of the long hill that led to the lake, we would pass a farmhouse where an elderly couple would be sitting on the porch. Make sure you wave, my father would say. And we did, and they would always wave back.
Comments
Great story, and I agree with you.