Old Tattoo

I had the pleasure of breakfast at Waffle House a few days ago. I love to see such a mixture of people, and the Waffle House never disappoints. I prefer a booth that allows me to see people as they come and go, but the hustle and bustle of a Sunday Morning would not permit. I sat at the counter. One of the ladies in the kitchen was singing hymns (it is Sunday after all). A couple in the corner caught my eye. The woman seemed to be going into her sixties. She was decked out in the colors of Spring. Her husband, I assume, is James Brown. He looked like it anyway. The James Brown that got arrested for going on a rampage. The only difference was his eyes. His eyes were very gentle and comforting. I found myself staring at him, and I knew that I would like him if I knew him. I imagine him to be a gentle mannered joker. He would make a great grandfather. The pair did not look like a match, but their body language suggested a love that had depth and firm rooting. Some hint to this improper duo was a faded tattoo on the lady's arm. A clue to what might have brought about a love that, I can only imagine, has survived decades. If her shirt had sleeves, or if the tattoo was in some nether region, I might not have ever guessed. This couple still doesn't know me, but we are friends. I am thankful to them for the days since then that I have thought about the paths we go down in our life. I get so focused on my life, and my day, that I don't take notice to the people who are around me. What interesting lives we lead. Our normal is another's fantastic. Our victory is another's loss.

Everyone seems more human when you look at them from their side of the story.