Everyone Has A Story
Today I walked my daugher's Chihuahua, Victor Jose, down to the beach.
As I stood on the lookout point overlooking the sparkling Pacific, I noticed a tatooed hispanic dude sitting on the bench finishing up his lunch.
As I made to leave, so did he. But first he stopped at the drinking fountain, took a long sip of water and spit it into the bushes.
That's when I noticed that he wore gangster pants that fell down around his butt.
He pulled them up, turned around and that's when I noticed he wore those earring thingies that made his ear lobes holes about the size of a quarter.
My personal mind started to go into judgement mode. Probably here to rob.
But I smiled at him because I'm not especially fond of that part of myself.
He smiled back and said, "What's your dog's name?"
"This is Victor Jose."
"How old is he?"
"He's a rescue but we think he's about twelve."
His eyes immediatley filled. "I had a Chihuahua named Lucy. She was sixteen. She died last week."
My heart went out to this young man. "Que lastima," I said.
His eyes lit up. "You speak Spanish?"
"Yes. My mother is from Ecudaor," I told him in my best Spanish.
This started a lively conversation in Spanish, about dogs, and all kinds of fun stuff.
Finally, he bid me goodbye with a firm handshake and a twinkle in his eye. "Adios!"
It just goes to show ... you never know what story you're going to hear. Everyone has one.
As a writer it's my job to run home and scribble all this stuff down.
As I stood on the lookout point overlooking the sparkling Pacific, I noticed a tatooed hispanic dude sitting on the bench finishing up his lunch.
As I made to leave, so did he. But first he stopped at the drinking fountain, took a long sip of water and spit it into the bushes.
That's when I noticed that he wore gangster pants that fell down around his butt.
He pulled them up, turned around and that's when I noticed he wore those earring thingies that made his ear lobes holes about the size of a quarter.
My personal mind started to go into judgement mode. Probably here to rob.
But I smiled at him because I'm not especially fond of that part of myself.
He smiled back and said, "What's your dog's name?"
"This is Victor Jose."
"How old is he?"
"He's a rescue but we think he's about twelve."
His eyes immediatley filled. "I had a Chihuahua named Lucy. She was sixteen. She died last week."
My heart went out to this young man. "Que lastima," I said.
His eyes lit up. "You speak Spanish?"
"Yes. My mother is from Ecudaor," I told him in my best Spanish.
This started a lively conversation in Spanish, about dogs, and all kinds of fun stuff.
Finally, he bid me goodbye with a firm handshake and a twinkle in his eye. "Adios!"
It just goes to show ... you never know what story you're going to hear. Everyone has one.
As a writer it's my job to run home and scribble all this stuff down.
That is so sweet and can just see the twinkle! You're right about first impressions. I try never to do it because of so many wrong impressions I had in the classroom. The old "never judge a book by its cover" is so true! I love the story about this kind young man.
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