Life Lessons from a Stranger

Meet fifteen-year-old me. It’s the very end of the 1990s. I'm puny, naïve, and saving up for a big trip. I work at Dairy Queen. No pictures, sorry.

I learned on that job that most people are not dedicated to ice cream. They ignore it all winter, and then when the weather hits a certain warmth, they show up at Dairy Queen in herds.

We spent the in-between hours deep-cleaning and serving the neighborhood regulars. One was a lady we all remember. To be honest, her appearance triggered a lot of assumptions. Even in summer she wore so many shirts and coats that she was probably twice the size of her actual frame. We Oregonians like layers, but this was different. 

Over time I learned that she was not homeless, and that her name was Sophie (still not her real name, but you get the idea). Once she told me that she had a baby, and it was a puppy. Yes, she said things that didn’t make sense, but she was harmless. She had a winning smile, and a fondness for bright lipsticks.

I remember filling and refilling cups of water for her. Maybe I remember because of the lipstick on the rims.

I worked two more jobs on that same street, and for umpteen years, I spotted Sophie all over town. Many people knew her the same way, and we speculated that she must be in good shape to walk the miles and the hills the way she did.

Now, friend tells me that Sophie passed away. After all these years, we are surprised to know more about Sophie's past because her daughter posted about her mother's story on Facebook.

Who knew? Sophie had children. She was a musician with perfect pitch, and used to play the violin. She was changed by mental illness, and later diagnosed with schizophrenia. She was afraid people would steal from her, and that’s why she kept so many clothes and belongings with her. 

I was never mean to Sophie, but I do wish that fifteen-year-old me had been less awkward and more friendly. I wish I hadn't been so uncomfortable in the face of her differences. If I could go back, I’d offer to buy her ice cream instead of saving all my money.

I wish I had understood that in the same way she didn’t always make sense to us, the world didn’t make sense to her.

If you had asked me back then if I believed that everyone has a story, I would have said yes. We’re all interconnected. Every single person who enters our life has something to teach us.

I knew it in my head, but I had no idea what that meant for a person like Sophie. Today I’m still working on connecting it all in my mind. I’m grateful to Sophie's daughter for sharing their story because it allows so many of us to form a clearer understanding. More importantly, it was a deep reminder for me to stop letting outer details distract me from seeing people as a heart and a soul.

The next time I'm compelled to shy away, I have a feeling that this memory of Sophie will be reminding me to do just the opposite - to be kind, even if I don't understand.