We All Have A Story…

I was sitting on a bench in a local park, when an elderly man came and sat next to me. He was alone and he had a crossword puzzle magazine in his back pocket. He pulled it out and began working on one of the puzzles. I observed him for a little while, watching out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to know his story: did he have any kids or grandchildren? Did he have a wife? But most importantly I wanted to make him smile — possibly make his day. He looked as if he was in a state of sadness.

A few feet away were some college students, they were loud and cussing. When the college students began cussing, I saw the elderly man look up and observe the students, shaking his head at their foul language. Soon after a lady came up to the bench asking if we would like to sign some petitions, he just shook his head at her — and got up and left.

Everyday we pass by people — who are young, old, of a different ethnicity, from a different country, whom speak a different language. Behind all of them holds a story, holds their history. From the outside we can’t tell, but their story could be about triumph, happiness, sadness, loneliness.

Once I get to know someone on a personal level, I always want to learn their story, I want to know why they are the way they are. I want to know what inspires them or gives them the drive to want to wake up and get out of bed every day. I want to know if they’ve ever felt alone in life as I have in certain points in my life.

I want to know their story.

But I also wonder, is there anyone who wants to know mine. Who can I tell my story to…