my son

he went to new york for a few days.
just to wander and have some fun.
a quick side visit to his gramma.

he stopped by for lunch on his way to
work. filled me in on his stories.

i sat and listened and laughed and
shook my head.

he told me of the guy who worked the
snack bar on the train....how he hated
his job but loved music. and the changes
in his face when he talked of music.
and how it would change back to the
grouchy wall of a face when he had to
deal with the snack bar.

of the cleaning woman he talked to who
sends money back to her country to her
grand kids....'on her cleaning woman
salary, mom.'

of the young teen he sat next to at one
point who also had visited his gramma
and how they wrote a song together about
grammas. and how the kid told him about
how he ate slugs for a dare...

how he chatted with the nun and how she
ended up giving him a miracle medal.

story after story that told pieces of
different lives.

i listened.

he had no idea what he just did.
how he traveled.
how he saw the world around him as
full of people with stories....

it was just natural to him.

and so fun to listen to.

he touches the world in such a cool
way...and yet has no idea that he does so.

what a treat to watch.
what a treat to call him my son.