I was going to write something else, but I changed my mind. And I know this is corny—believe me, I know—but I just wanted to say I love you.
No, I really mean it. We probably don’t know each other, but I love you to death. I swear it. I just have a feeling that you need to hear that today. And with everything going on in the world right now, if you truly do need to hear those words, I’m your guy.
You know what else I love? The cashier in Winn-Dixie. Her name is Linda, she’s from North Alabama, and she talks like it. She and her husband moved to Florida for his job and she’s homesick. I can tell.
She showed me cellphone photos of her parents, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, and grandbaby. She wears a strong face when she talks, but I know that look. It’s a mournful, heartsore look.
“My sister is coming to town,” she told me, a complete stranger. “For vacation, on Monday. I’m so excited.”
She was so thrilled it was
blasting through her green eyes.
I also love the kids selling magazine subscriptions at my front door. I didn’t want to buy magazines, but those children deserved a few bucks for being brave enough to knock on a stranger’s door. When you’re that age, there’s nothing harder than drumming up conversations with adults.
I asked why the kids were selling them. One told me, “Sir, I want to earn enough to buy a smartphone for my grandmother so we can keep in touch with her.”
Then his friend whispered, “I thought your grandma passed away.”
I love Margaret. You’d like her, too. She’s a stick of dynamite. Her husband has Alzheimer’s. She is his caregiver. She gives everything to him. It’s just who she is. She gives until she’s dry. Then she gives some more.
I love the white-haired man I…