Behind Every Interesting Face...

I’ve always been drawn to the most interesting faces in the room.  That doesn’t mean the most beautiful or even the most popular.  Usually, it’s the oldest face – but not always – and often it’s a face that’s flawed and/or grizzled.  Why?  Because that face belongs to someone with stories to tell. 

I think I’ve always been this way.  When I was a kid, summer visits with my dad included a lot of time in divey taverns.  Usually, I drank chocolate sodas and played pinball in the corner, but I also sat on the stools next to the coal miners, factory workers and blue-collared men who called my dad ‘friend’.  My favorite of these guys had one arm, a scar under his eye, and always a kid-friendly joke and a quarter at the ready for me to play another game or a song on the jukebox.  I was too little to really get what he and the other grown ups talked about, but I wasn’t too little to see that he made them all laugh and they were always happy to see him walk in the door.

As a 16 year old Waffle House waitress in Florida, I saw no shortage of interesting faces in the booths.  Always alone, always planning to stay a while, always with questions about me and my day that were unexpected and different from the usual small talk that people make.  Those men (the occasional woman, but usually men) made me think about my answers and points of view in new and out of the ordinary ways.  My other customers probably suffered because my focus was on “the old coot in the corner” and I surely missed out on tips but the time spent listening was worth so much more. 

At Christmas time, these customers brought me gifts and money.  Maybe it’s because I was a cute young girl who gave them the time of day when others didn’t.  I prefer to believe that my ears were more appealing to them than my youth or beauty.  For myself, I know I learned so much more from them than from most of my teachers.  Many, many moons have passed and I still recall words of wisdom from John (2 eggs, scrambled with cheese and wheat toast with gallons of coffee) at the counter and I’m grateful.

I’ve been fortunate over the years to spend time with seasoned musicians with road scars and endless tales to tell.  As much as I love hearing these guys play their instruments and sing, sitting and talking with them is my favorite part.  I don’t care much about the glamorous part of their lives, I want the heart.  Once, when I asked Bill Monroe for a tour of his bus, he was surprised.  He thought this little girl was expecting some ‘Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous’ experience but all I really wanted was a peep at how these guys spent their downtime.  A well worn deck of cards and dirty coffee cups told it all.

A few days ago, we were visiting my brother in law in Arizona and made the rounds to all the sites that would entertain the kids.  This included a trip to a gold mining ghost town.  All very interesting and informative, with a mine tour, panning and the like that kept everyone occupied and amused.  But my favorite part, by far, was my chat with Cantankerous Carl.  I suppose he’s sort of the town mascot, with cartoon versions of him on many of the signs.  He stood in the gift shop, decked out in Old West miner garb, guns at his side and his job was to talk to potential customers – in a heavily put-on cowboy-esque voice – about the people in photos they were viewing or the things they might consider buying.  My husband and his brother chatted with him for a bit.  Then it was my turn.

He started by telling stories about Sitting Bull, prompted by a postcard in front of us.  I turned the talk to questions about himself.  The faux cowboy drawl gradually drifted away and we talked about different places he lived, his years of mining and people he’d met.  When he referred to mining, he said “I sure never got rich.” I said “but you are rich with stories and memories”.  His eyes lit up, he smiled, agreed and continued story telling.  His voice was gravelly, his face was leathery and his body was worn, but there was nothing at all cantankerous about Carl.  If children’s patience would have allowed it, I’d have pulled up a chair and talked to him for hours.

In the library, I seek out autobiographies and memoirs of people I know very little about.  They’re almost always more entertaining than the fiction and I learn something new every time.

I often tell my kids “I know a little about a lot of things.”  This is why.  Behind every interesting face, there s a wealth of information about life.  Struggles and victories, hard knocks and gravy trains, riches and lack, love and loss, lessons learned along the way.  If you listen – truly listen – you can file those lessons away and pull them out as you go down your own path.  Sometimes it’s very practical knowledge and household tips.  Sometimes you’ll find much deeper spiritual advice that can carry you through a rough patch.  Used properly, tales of another’s bumpy roads can make for a much smoother ride for the person who listened and remembered.

In the not-so-distant future, when my back is not as straight, when my skin is lined with the ages, and my face is “interesting”, I hope that some young person will see beyond the little old lady and recognize the vault of stored information that lies beneath the surface.  I will probably be cantankerous.  I’m on my way already, but a genuine smile is usually all it takes to get past the guard.

Next time you’re in a crowded room, instead of naturally drifting to the most familiar faces, or the most attractive faces, spend a moment with the most interesting face and see where the conversation takes you.  You may travel to worlds you never imagined with the stories they have to tell, but you'll never know if you don't take a peek behind the interesting face.