MediaEnthusiast

The DMV is a nasty place, full of excruciatingly long lines; people waiting impatiently to hand over money they don’t want to pay; and topped off with rude clerks.  It’s hardly the place that I thought I would find a little hope, and maybe even a little good luck.

Particularly not since it took me no less than FOUR trips there to get two cars registered.  ..I won’t spoil this post with the details behind that headache.  Rather, I mention it because I’d noticed the guy perched outside the door, begging for petition signatures, for two days in a row.  Finally leaving with plates in hand, able to cross something off my to-do list and still on a kidless-high from leaving the munchkins with the sitter, I didn’t wait for my time to be requested before I approached him.

After accusing me of hitting on him, I found my flirtatious new friend telling me not only about the politician he was trying to get on the ballot, but of his own personal struggles.  (Please remember.. I’ve been practicing getting strangers to open their hearts to me within five minutes for a while, now.)

“I’m not much of a reader,” he slipped in, trying to quickly move past his words.

I stopped signing my name long enough that he made eye contact.  “That’s an interesting statement.”

“I can read sentences.. but not all together.  They stop making sense after the first or second one.  I’m just.. not much of a reader.  I’m more a ‘common sense’ kind of guy.”

After gently pushing a bit further, he told me a little about being epileptic.  Unable to drive.  Without a”real” job.

My breath was sucked from my chest as he went on to share his dream to bring joy to our local Children’s Mercy Hospital, where both he and my own daughter have spent some dark times.

Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he picked through it carefully as we spoke.  A look of finality on his face, “Here,” he said, pressing a carefully laminated heart into my palm.  I looked down.

My lucky heart

“Where did you find this?” I demanded, skeptical of the four-leaf clover I held.

“I just.. look down,” he replied, looking down, digging a half dozen more samples out to show me.  After sharing his collection, he demanded, “And what do they stand for?”

“Luck,” I stammered back.

“Exactly.  Those little things have given me luck.  Luck in health.  Luck in life.  And now.. It will bring you and your kids the same.”

The directness of his words and the heart pressed not really in laminate, but as he admitted, in packing tape, struck me in the center of my chest.  I’m not sure quite how I managed to walk away from that conversation, just as I’m still uncertain how to end this post.

Equally, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.  Will the four leaves bring me luck?  Or will it wind up being just another superstition?

We shall see.