The Smile

Peace begins with a smile. Mother Theresa

When I first saw the man approaching on his bicycle, I did not give him much thought. My mind was in a million other places that morning, stopped at the light leading onto a typically busy 64 west, on my way to see Rich in the hospital for an emergency admission the day before. He was experiencing some chest pains and shortness of breath, so much so that he abandoned his round of golf after five holes to have checked out. Anyone who knows Rich, knows this is big. A half day later, he was the proud owner of three new stents in his heart arteries. No heart attack, no heart damage, but his body was letting him know that both were on the way.

The morning rush hour traffic was in full swing and I quickly realized I would not be making a right on red and the extra minute or two at the light was not going to delay anything. It was then I focused on the man on the bike. He was not the typical cyclist I see braving the busy highway. He was older, late 60s, clad in what I’ve come to call the “Lands End” look, khaki pants and a hunter green v-neck pullover. He instantly reminded me of my Dad, who sported this look like it was his uniform. He wore a bike helmet and was leisurely peddling a cruiser bike.

As he approached my car, he looked at me, directly at me, our eyes locked, and then he smiled and waved. It was a big, beautiful, light up your face smile. A smile that says, I see you, I connect with you. I waved back and thought, Dad. He looks so much like Dad, a man who smiled frequently, genuinely and joyfully. When Dad smiled, his whole face was involved. His cheeks filled, his eyes twinkled. He didn’t smile at you, he smiled with you or because of you. He had the most beautiful smile.

It took me a moment to process the man and his warm gesture on a morning when I was filled with anxiety about the coming day. The smile, that “Dad smile,” it felt like a much needed hug from a stranger. Or was he a stranger?

As he passed through my view of the oncoming traffic, I did not follow his path, intent on breaking into the road with my first chance. When I realized the traffic was too heavy, I turned so I could watch this friendly person ride away. But he was gone. He was not on the road I would have thought he’d continue. It is long and straight with no obstacles, there is no way I would have not seen him. Did he pass my car and turn right, traveling the road behind? I physically turned around to look for him, on road with no obstructions, he was gone.

That smile. The love I felt when our eyes met, the comfort and assurance I felt in a moment of great fear and anxiety, like a father’s hug, will remain with me forever, stored with all my memories of my father, a kind, gentle, fun-loving person. A person you could always count on when in trouble or upset with his sage advice and “let’s get it done” action plans.

My father visited me that morning. I’ve felt his presence a few times since he died over 22 years ago, but never so viscerally. He knew I was scared and worried. He knew I needed comfort and hope. That smile. That beautiful smile. It gave me that. Thank you, Dad.