My “Talk to me” Face

“Hey, didn’t you teach at Saskatoon Elementary School?”

“Did you graduate from South Dallas High School?”

“Weren’t you in my mom’s group in Knoxville?”

No, no, and no. I have a face that people swear they recognize. Almost everywhere I’ve traveled, strangers ask me if I went to this school or was a part of that civic group. Other tourists come up to me and ask directions. On every trip I find myself apologizing for not being a local then try my best to help them figure out where they’re trying to go.

This isn’t limited to domestic travel, either. Once, in Greece, my own tour guide started talking to me in Greek, thinking I was a local walking by. It took a minute for my brain to process what was happening and then I looked at her quizzically and muttered, “I’m in your tour group. I came over to get something off the bus.” She was a bit surprised then waved me by.

I call it my “tell me” face. Walking through museums, riding on public transport, watiting in a lobby, no matter what I happen to be doing people want to come and tell me things. I’ve heard life stories in the ten minutes it takes to get groceries.

One night in Hawaii, I listened to a young man’s story of his recent breakup and subsequent STD infection that was the result of her infidelity. I was on the bus for twenty minutes.

The funniest experiences are when people argue with me. I was in Cherokee, NC, at the Oconaluftee Indian Village when one of the presenters asked me if I had attended a local high school. He was wearing traditional garb, an interesting contrast to my T-shirt and shorts. I smiled, this being a regular thing for me, and said, “No. I just have a familiar face. I’m from North Georgia.” 

He proceeded to argue with me, convinced I was wrong. “No. You went to school here. I remember you from high school.” I assured him I had never attended a high school in all of North Carolina. It didn’t matter. He was certain I had been in his school or, at least, had dated someone from his school.

In Dallas my “tell me” face must have been giving people a double-dose because it lead to two very interesting encounters. The first was on the tram into downtown Dallas. Part way into our ride, a man boarded with a bike. He hung his bike on one of the hooks provided for bikes in the car (very cool, by the way). He sat on the other end of the car. About five minutes later, he called out to me, “Ma’am. Ma’am. I’m thirsty. Can you give me a couple of dollars to buy some water when I get off?”

I answered that I didn’t have any cash, which I didn’t, and I was sorry. He kept looking at me and asked if I was sure. I told him I was but that I hoped he could fine a place to fill his water bottle when he got off the tram. He then stood up and walked over to us. We shook hands and over the next ten minutes he told us about living in a local homeless shelter and his efforts to get back to Miami. His car, the only home he had, was stolen some months back and that’s how he came to be in the shelter.

When he got off the tram, my kids had lots of questions. They processed part of his story but struggled to understand how someone becomes and stays homeless. He didn’t ask again for money but just enjoyed the time to visit. We shook hands again before he left and we wished him well.

Then, a man called out to me while we were in Dealey Plaza, checking out the JFK assassination spots. He makes his living giving tourists a play-by-play of the assassination. He asks for tips as he’s telling his story. I looked like a good candidate and, of course, he was right. He was engaging and funny and told us some of his story as he went along. The kids were unsure of him because he had a speech impediment: part of his mouth was paralyzed.

Again, when we finished, the kids had lots of questions. They wanted to know why he was talking to us, why his mouth was the way it was, and why he wanted a tip. This led to a continuation of our conversation on homelessness and how hard it can be to find work.

Some days I would rather not have a familiar face. It may surprise some who know me, but I get tired of people-ing the same as everyone else. But most days, the unintended invitation of my face brings fascinating conversations and stories. I’ve cried with people, laughed at their mishaps, helped them think of solutions to problems, and listened to them relive their hardest moments - most of the time I never know their names.

So, I guess this post is a prayer. I wonder where those people are and how things turned out. I pray they are well and give thanks to have shared a little time with them. And I pray to have the patience to pause and listen. Who knows what I’ll hear next? I certainly don’t want to miss it.