On High-Fives

My sisters, nieces, mum and I all try to meet once a week for coffees on a Friday – mainly we manage though life does sometimes get in the way so that one or more of us is missing but we do try. This week we made it. I think it is a lovely way to spend the end of Friday afternoon, it introduces my nieces to café culture and being sociable and it means we all stay in touch – face-to-face – as opposed to the more modern methods of texting, tweeting and status updates (and not forgetting blogs of course).

            Last Friday we met and had a lovely catch-up in a well-known coffee chain (I actually have to go to an independent coffee shop prior to the meeting so that I can get my caffeine fix as said chain brews disgusting coffee). It’s lovely to be there at around 5:30 and see how busy it is, there is every age-range, nationality and gender represented in that one coffee house every Friday and it warms me to think that we are not losing the gift of good conversation, enjoyed over something that doesn’t involve alcohol.

            An elderly couple had the tables behind us and from the way they were chatting to the manager they were clearly regulars there – I felt all warm and hopeful and pictured myself at 115, still active, still mobile, still doing Sudoku and frequenting the local café bars for a coffee and a chat. It’s a nice image.

            They soon got chatting to us and playing with my youngest niece who delighted them with her appreciative giggles as they tickled her and told her how beautiful she is (it’s true). And it reminded me of how saddened I get at the way society’s belief that strangers are evil/dangerous etc. often clouds our nation’s views and actions. I can’t count on my fingers the number of times each run that someone ignores my jovial ‘good morning’ – I teach my nieces to say it to passers-by and they too are normally met by strange looks.

We should be pleasant to one another, our world is not filled with mad-men and murderers (as tabloids would have us believe) and anyway, the dangerous ones are usually the ones we know. I’m not saying we shouldn’t teach our children the possible dangers of life, or the all-too important guidelines for maintaining their own personal safety and space but please can we have some realism? The following is what happened to me several months ago, I was so upset by it at the time that I wrote it in my journal.

            A young girl, no more than three, with a mop of bouncy, curly hair sits in a trolley at Asda; waiting patiently for her mum who is not far away, browsing the yoghurts and cheeses, regularly popping something or other in the trolley. The girl watches the crowds (for they must seem like crowds to her) and her face lights up as she realises my trajectory will pass near hers. Instantly she sticks her palm out in that familiar (at least at sporting venues) ‘high-five’ gesture. I reciprocate and her pleasure is obvious, her face suffused with joy.

            Her mother approaches, for she is clearly her mother even from a distance, her face contorted in a mixture of anger and a smile – as if she hates me but cannot face a confrontation. Her daughter is still excited, tells her mother – with glee – how I met her hand and her elation is instantly dashed.

            ‘And do you think that was sensible?’ her mother questions, her voice harsh, her features pinched.

            I walk on speedily; half embarrassed, half saddened at how wrong people’s interpretation of our world can be and at the damage a fleeting moment can do.