WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANY MORE

Do you remember when I locked my keys in the car in Tribune, Kansas? You might not, but my kids (and my husband) haven’t let me forget it.

One of the things that amazed me during the forty-five minutes I waited for the County Sheriff to arrive and break into my car for me was the fact that in this town of seven-hundred and eighty, actually smaller than my high school, where everyone most definitely knew everyone else and where I was most definitely a stranger every single driver who went by either stopped to see if they could help or waved to me. Not a big wave. Just that lift of the hand off the steering wheel that says, “Hey.”

That’s when I became aware of the phenomenon, but it had probably been happening for weeks. Now I started really noting it. Everywhere we went - stopped at the side of the road to give Gene water, walking along a dry overheated Main Street, pumping gas - no matter where we were people waved.

At first it felt strange. I mean, why were these people greeting complete strangers? Was it a way of saying, “Hello, I see you. Don’t try anything funny.”? Or were they signaling, “Yes, I know you’re there. Keep your distance.”?

But it quickly became apparent that it was a signal of comraderie, of companionship, of commonality.

“Hey there. I’m here and so are you. Nice to see you.”

But it meant even more than that. It was reassurance.

“We’re in this together. Keep safe. But if anything happens, I’ve got your back.”

With the stilted self-consciousness of someone used to being part of a world that prizes privacy I began to return the wave, until it became second nature. Very quickly I found myself being the initiator as often as I was the recipient. And much as I value my solitude, I liked the feeling that I was never really alone.

Lately, though, I’ve seen a change. I’m the initiator of waves that are seldom if ever returned. And my greetings are met with quizzical glances, if not downright suspicion. We’re back on the sophisticated East Coast where easy friendliness is reserved for friends, family and acquaintances; and where strangers have to work their way into the inner circle.

In the past I may have felt a secret superiority and surreptitiously looked down my nose at the simplicity of the Midwest, but now I appreciate it. More than appreciate it. I miss it.

No wonder Dorothy worked so hard to get back to Kansas.

For Gene's very different view of the same journey, check out his blog at www.ConnorsArmy.blogspot.com
To learn more about Connor's Army go to www.ConnorsArmy.org
To see exactly why we're doing this go to www.SunriseDayCamp.org
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