Perspective in Dairy Queen

She gets in her own world, ya know. She & her wild-haired beautiful self.

Listening.

Watching.

Immersing herself in others’ conversations.

All while enjoying her drink of choice—often a milkshake or root beer float (because of the ice cream, both are easy for her to swallow without getting choked, so we let her hold the cup and drink at her own pace).

She looks so grown when she does this. Well, she is grown. But rarely does she get to do “grown” things. And when she does, I relish it.

So does she.

This particular time we were in Dairy Queen (her version of Ruth’s Chris), and to the left of her there were two “kids”, probably in their early twenties, who were onboarding for employment there. One, a pretty blonde girl whose eyes smiled when she looked at you, the other, a strapping fella with a chiseled jaw and wearing a quarter zip (if you know you know).

While I fed her itty. bitty. miniscule bites of her sandwich, and while she chomped and chawed (Appalachian for “chewed good”), she’d glance over to watch the interview process between the two and the manager. The only time she looked my way was when she was ready for another bite, & she’d look down on the tray, point, and shake her head “yes.”

Meanwhile, Dad, Mom & I chatted about onion rings, old farm property, and Mom’s new ‘do that made her “look like money”, (per my words).

…with frequent comments about how Britni was so engrossed with what was going on just 10 feet from us.

Britni didn’t care. Her Momaw’s, Popaw’s, and my conversation held little interest for her–she was eating a fish sammich & watching the hunk of a fella fill out an application. On paper. With a pen.

My brother called as we ate. He gave us his ETA (he was on his way in for a visit), asked if he needed to stop and get something to eat before arriving (he did), and Mom let him know we’d be heading to the store to get his Pepsi.

All the while, Britni chewed.

And drank.

And listened (though not to us).

At one point, Mom was worried her hands were getting cold holding that milkshake. I assured her that Britni would let us know if they were. I then went into the whole “if she held it with a napkin, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell where it is in space, and holding it as it is helps her control it” (I’ve no idea how to word that—therapists, help me out).

Our little baskets were empty, fries eaten, wads of paper lay strewn between the two tables, and we were ready to leave.

But we didn’t.

The two next to us had begun watching a video on a tablet as part of their onboarding. We heard “welcome to the team”…”brand vibe”…”the customer’s truth”…a lot of terms I was very familiar with from when I was a small business marketing counselor. Honestly, I found myself leaning in a bit, too.

The video was peppered with some comic relief apparently, because we could hear them chuckle as they watched. Confirmation came when Britni joined right in. Straw in mouth. Head slightly bent. And a hearty “heh heh heh!” bellowed past her milkshake-covered lips.

So, we lingered.

Britni’s joy bubbled over and slipped right into us. By this time, she’d thrown her legs over Mom’s lap, made herself comfortable, and just enjoyed the experience.

We did, too.

I used to tell Britni not to stare.

I thought I was protecting other people.
Protecting her.
Trying to make her fit into a world that moves too fast and notices too little.

But I don’t do that now.

Because Britni doesn’t just look at people…
she experiences them.

Their laughter becomes hers.
Their moments become hers.

And yesterday, sitting there in Dairy Queen,
watching her laugh along with strangers like she belonged right there with them…

I realized something that hit me square in the chest—

She doesn’t need to look away.

The rest of us need to look more.

#perspective #sincerelyteresa #thequeensworld