The Metro Man

I was fortunate to be able to spend 2 days in Washington, DC recently with my daughter, my sister and her daughter. Anyone who has been there understands when I say it is challenging to capture all the stories about a trip to "DC"...and there were many after only 2 days. The extremes of any city can be overwhelming. Washington, DC was no exception.
We saw foreign dignitary's homes, The White House, the Capital building, servants, maids, street people, and young snappy professionals hurrying somewhere obviously important. We heard languages spoken I couldn't begin to guess where the people speaking them came from, and tourists from everywhere and anywhere. We witnessed a young man propose to his sweetheart at the Lincoln Memorial on Valentine's day. We saw banners joyfully proclaiming an electoral victory and protesters protesting silently yet sincerely. Their issues expressed a myriad of opinions.
We had men in uniform hold doors for us and women on the go ignore us. We ate seafood every chance we got . We even went to the familiar bookstore on the corner, just to be somewhere familiar. We danced to the hip-hop music being played in the huge municipal truck parked at the corner after hours as men repaired the street nearby (well, I did the dancing and embarrassed my daughter "into next week").
But, listen to me now, there was the metro man...allow me to try to tell you about the metro man. He was old and disheveled. He was dirty and bent over. He was there with us underneath the fabulous Union train station. The train station the presidents of the United States used to arrive in "the city" long before they started using Air Force One. No one else was there besides me, my daughter, my niece, my sister and the metro man. The metro is the city's subway system. There is a bank of automated ticketing machines theoretically self explanatory. To us a confusion of right choices and wrong choices. We felt stupid and vulnerable as we waved our money around the underground metro station looking for the right choice. My sister and I spread out in front of the ticketing machines as if that would better our chances of figuring it out. The two girls were in between us. My sister and I were like crows with one eye on a machine and one eye on our daughters. (Moms are like that). The dirty, bent over metro man started walking towards the girls and my sister and I closed in. "Can I help you?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Ummmm... yes please" one of us said. "You do it like this". He showed us how to insert the dollar bills and a ticket popped out of the wall. I gave him $2 for a ticket that cost $1.65 and said "Thank you, Sir". Dirty and bent over,he taught us all that we don't always need to be afraid of strangers. Don't get me wrong, this old man was strange. But he wasn't bad or mean or hurtful. He was kind and respectful. He was helpful and trusted us to be kind in return. And yes, he also got a return on his investment. That was ok with me. May your good will also return to you in a way you can receive.