Eggs

What I have noticed is how often someone’s silence is misinterpreted.

When I taught at a local university, that student–you know the one I mean–sitting in the back row and maintaining a “stony silence?” As an instructor, the vibe can be uncomfortable or even intimidating. But let them write. Just let them write and then sit down and talk through what they wrote. Some of the most surprising and eye-opening observations about the world, and often the most fun and shared laughter.

Or the neighbors who move into that house where the elderly and beloved woman lived who stayed there into her nineties. They move in with dogs, a trampoline, a small child, a grandmother, and two hard-working parents. A wave out a car window if we initiate it. But otherwise? Pretty much to themselves. Until. Steve walked over with a carton of eggs. Our girls have been busy, and we can’t keep up with them. I festooned the carton with stickers. A heart.

Here’s what came back: Mama, Grandma, and small child at my door. With cookies. And the forthright greeting of a child that is guaranteed to open all doors:

“Where were you? We have been here twice, today!”

Elsie, four years old. Now my very favorite neighbor.

And the people up the street with the strong political flag that just pushed right under my thin skin? Steve took eggs to them. We got stories. I mean stories! About the whole neighborhood.

Stuff we never knew. Important stuff. And caramel corn. Homemade caramel corn and salsa.

Here’s the thing: Silence breeds mistrust. Talk to each other. Interact. And be ready to tell a four-year-old where you were all day!