The other day I had a semi-complicated transaction that required my presence at the bank, something that could not just be done at the ATM outside. Having to go into the bank is an errand I rarely look forward to. When running errands, I often find myself doing everything I can to keep from interacting with customer service people. I keep my head down, avoid eye contact, complete my transaction, and get out of there. Usually it’s because I am simply trying to check off items on my list. But it is probably also because ever since COVID lockdowns, I am shockingly willing to go out in public looking like I just rolled out of bed. (Yes, I am working on that!).

The gentleman at the bank who was helping me said that it would take him about twenty minutes to complete the transaction. And I sure didn’t want to stand there watching him for twenty minutes. I had a package to mail, and the post office was one story below the bank, so I asked if it would be ok if I ran that errand while he finished up.

Unfortunately, but predictably, he said no. I needed to be there to witness the entire thing. Something about his demeanor and his easy smile, plus the fact that I would be standing there for twenty minutes, led to a conversation.

As he moved from one form to another, we started chatting about our day, the weather, our plans for the weekend. At some point, he mentioned his daughter, so naturally, I asked if he had any others. 

This was his first, he told me. He asked if I had kids, and I told him yes, a daughter who is 27 and a son who is 24. Then he dropped his pen and feigned shock that I could possibly have children that age. I know. But I am easily flattered. 

The two of us picked up our phones and started scrolling through our photos, seeking the best photo of our respective children. I found a photo of my kids at five and two, which I shared, plus a more recent photo of the three of us.

“She just turned one!” he proclaimed as he handed his phone over, and I saw an adorable little girl in a red dress with round cheeks I just wanted to squeeze. Then he found a few professional photos from when she turned 6 months, 7 months, 8 months to share with me. He moved on to the next form, but he continued to express how much he loved that little girl. 

As someone who has a daughter whose father hasn’t spoken to her in nearly ten years, I rejoiced to hear this. I am pretty annoying when the conversation of dads and daughters comes up. I tend to find myself lecturing the dads, desperate to get them to understand the critical importance of their relationship with their daughter, of the need that every little girl has to be loved unconditionally by her dad. Even when they think they can’t make it happen. Even when they think their ex-wives won’t allow it. Even when it gets tough. And it will get tough.

He then expressed some concern about the state of the country, and when I told him I used to be a professor, he also expressed concern about his daughter’s education.

I told him how grateful I am that my children are old enough to be out of school and that I don’t yet have grandchildren in school. My only hope is that by the time I do have grandchildren and that they are old enough to be in school that things will have changed.

“You think?” he asked.

I put it like this. I just have to believe that the pendulum has swung so far to one side that at some point it has to swing back.

He immediately stopped what he was doing and stared at me slack-jawed, speechless. Then he apologized and said, “You have just changed everything for me.”

What did he mean by that?

He said that he kept looking at the dismal state of our country as gaining momentum. And I should note, I have no idea what his politics are or what in particular he is concerned about. It didn’t matter. But what happens when momentum builds? The end result is to fall off a cliff. It is difficult to have even the slightest bit of hope if you see the end result of the current momentum as destruction at the bottom of a cliff. It also creates a feeling of helplessness. It is nearly impossible for one person to feel like they can have an impact on the direction of culture and politics.

But if we see this as a pendulum, then there is hope. There is hope that at some point, whether sooner or later, things will turn around. And if we have hope, then there is reason to believe that we can be part of the change, perhaps even help to accelerate it.

As he finished up my transaction, he shook his head and thanked me. The change in perspective opened a whole new world to him, a world he never considered. He said he would have to really spend some time with that. 

We said our goodbyes, wished each other well, and I continued on my way to the post office.

The teller had some things to think about, and I loved the reminder that changing how we see the world can actually change everything.

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