The Uphill Slide

There is always something.

Everybody Doesn’t Know My Name.

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“There she is,” I said to my daughter. The woman in bright fluorescent was smiling and waving energetically, and I smiled widely and waved back. She was two streets away from where I first met her one morning. That was on Wood Street across from the murals that adorn walls around a gazebo and on the sides of buildings and steps leading to the busway walkway.

My daughter responded, “She waves to everybody.” Pin in my balloon.

“I believe she knows me and my little red car. She waves like she recognizes me from our chat one morning.”

“I saw her wave like that to other cars,” was her comeback.

“Well, if you stand on the same corner five mornings a week, then you recognize the people who pass by you each day.”

Everybody who knows you doesn’t always know your name, and everybody who knows your name doesn’t always know you.

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