On Talking To Strangers

I'm not really an outgoing person, so I don't have all that many conversations with strangers. I do talk to cashiers at the grocery store who inevitably coo over Imogen. And I've had some fun exchanges with people in parking lots commenting on my bumper stickers (primarily the one that reads, "I make breastmilk, what's your superpower?"). I'd be a bad New Yorker, though, because I do always try to make eye contact and smile when passing someone on the street. My mother-in-law is great with strangers. She ends up finding out their life stories, becoming best friends, and exchanging phone numbers in a matter of minutes.

I do talk to other mothers, though. It must be related to automatically having something to talk about - that being the kids. When you become a parent, you're immediately enrolled in a secret society in which the members exchange knowing smiles and glances. But I discovered yesterday that even when we should have common ground to stand on, some interactions with strangers are just plain sour.

I have no beef with churches or religion, as long as they mind their own business. But I have never liked the idea of attempting to convert total strangers. And the last place I expected to be solicited is the waiting area of the speech therapy department for kids with special needs.

Imogen and I have begun waiting outside while Elliot works with his speech therapist, which helps him to focus. Yesterday afternoon, I was happily sitting with Idgie on the floor while another mother sat in one of the chairs watching her daughter play with Mr. Potato Head parts with Imogen. Out of the blue, the mother invited me to a service at her church, with the caveat that "there will be a lot of black people there, though" (um, I'm sorry, did you really just say that?). When I declined after several additional invitations, she asked if I was a Christian. When I said no, she said, "well, that's weird". I wish I'd thought to say, why? The majority of the people on the planet aren't Christians, so what exactly is so weird about it? Her next sentence began, "well, my experience of God is...", at which point I cut her off and told her politely that I was minding my own business and didn't want to discuss spirituality with her. After a few moments of silence, she started talking to me again, this time asking questions about Imogen's name and age (which is what you're supposed to ask another mother in a waiting room, right?). I was happy to be rescued by Elliot and his speech therapist a couple of minutes later.

Talking to strangers should be an exercise in community building. It's good to get to know your neighbors, and it's good to listen to someone else's opinion. But trying to push your personal faith on someone whose name you don't even know is an invasion of privacy, plain and simple. I'd rather just talk about how cute my kids are. Because they are darn cute. Here's proof.

Here's Imogen demonstrating her latest trick - pointing. Elliot didn't point until he was three, so the novelty of Imogen's pudgy little hand gesturing at kitties and people's noses and pieces of pretzel on the carpet has not worn off for me yet.


And here is Elliot showing off his mastery of the rock wall at fun school. Our cautious boy has recently learned to climb the wall himself, without asking anyone for help.


Happy July to everyone! And don't be a stranger. Leave me a comment and let me know you're out there!