The other day, the family was out running errands. Mom and Dad had gone into the UPS store to deliver a package, and Riah and I sat in the car waiting for them. A truck pulled up next to us and we watched as the driver climbed out and began unloading packages. He was young, maybe nineteen or twenty, wearing blue plaid shorts and a white V-neck tee. But what really caught my eye was his hair; dyed white and stuck in messy spikes. I looked over at Riah. “He looks like an American KPopper,” I laughed.
“He does,” she agreed.
“When he comes back out, I’m going to tell him I like his hair.”
She looked sideways at me. “Uh…go ahead. Fine.” (She doesn’t quite get it when I talk to random strangers. I once went up and asked a guy going into Starbucks if he was a professor because she dared me without thinking I’d do it. Ah, good times).
So I cracked open the car door, waited until he walked back out to his car, and then I stood, looked over the top of the van and said “Hey, I really like your hair!”
He looked surprised for a minute, and then an adorable grin spread over his face. “Thank you! I dyed it this morning!”
“It looks really great.”
“Thank you,” he repeated, “I really appreciate it! I wanted to try something new.”
“You did a good job,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up.
His smile could have powered a small town. “I’m glad you think so!”
We exchanged grins and I climbed back into the car. Riah said nothing until Mom and Dad re-appeared, and then she blurted “Did you see the guy with the white hair?”
They said that they had.
“Mirriam told him she liked his hair.”
I was expecting maybe a playful groan, but to our shock Mom said “Wasn’t he adorable? He pulled it off so well!”
“You liked his hair?” I stared at the back of her head. This was highly unusual for my mother. So far she’s rejected blue hair, pink hair, yellow hair – but white hair?
“No,” said Dad.
“I did too,” Mom insisted. “He looked kind of surfer-boy. He pulled the look off.”
“He did, didn’t he?” I agreed, still in a little bit of shock.
“He looked like a doofus,” said Dad. (He’s not very shy about stating opinions. He’s also not very into wacky hair dyes).
Us girls clamored “He did NOT!” “He looked cute!”
“He was really friendly,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot. “He’s one of those people that you see and want to be friends with.”
Dad disagreed, but for the rest of the day Mom, Riah and I continued to remark about how that guy had something about him. I don’t know what it was – it was a special something, and it was fun to be around, even if only for five minutes. His entire personality seemed to light up when I complimented his hair, and it made me realize.
I am SO blessed. Hardly a day goes by when somebody – through a blog comment, a Facebook message or post, an email – doesn’t make my day. All it takes is a few words and I’m a happy duck. In fact, whenever I receive something particularly nice, I save it in an email folder titled ‘Happy.’
So I thought, what if we all tried to make someone’s day every day this week? A family member, or somebody we see when we go out. It doesn’t take much effort, and it’s definitely worth it.