A Fido Friend

This morning, I was astonished by kindness.

There I was, spaced out, reading the advertisements for bass players and the Blair School of Music’s next performance, waiting in line at Fido with my friend Daniella. An older gentleman with an umbrella and distinguished spectacles waltzed through the doors and stood behind me in line. ‘I found it,’ he said jovially, ‘the back of the line! Anyone want to buy my spot?’

I smiled, politely amused.

But the man’s friendliness persisted and we soon began chatting. He was in town visiting his grown daughter who was parking the car and it was obvious from his tone and the affection in his voice that he loves her deeply and is very proud of her. You sometimes just know a good dad, and this was one. An amazingly friendly, hearty person, he asked questions and made jokes, he was engaging and kind. Without so much as exchanging names, we talked about where he was from and retirement and how he knows Tom Izzo. I gushed about Mateen Cleaves and how in eighth grade I was convinced that no one had ever played the game of basketball with so much heart. He agreed.

His daughter came in from outside, looked at her dad talking with us, and just laughed. He’s done this before. Daniella and I talked with her about her move to Nashville and her job. We had a pleasant conversation as the line inched forward and eventually made it to the register. Daniella and I each ordered and as I pulled out my wallet, the cashier looked behind me, over my right shoulder, and took a credit card from our new friend. ‘I’ve got it, girls,’ he boomed. ‘No way, really…’ I began to protest. A fatherly hand on my shoulder and an assured smile. ‘Yes way. It’s on me. Let this old dad get it.’ His daughter shook her head. ‘He does this,’ she said. ‘Well, okay, thank you so, so much,’ Daniella and I offered in unison.

I honestly felt like I was going to weep.

‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’