This morning I did something for the first time in the five and half years I’ve lived at my current address. I met our garbage man (well men to be more specific.) With perfect timing a garbage truck rolled around the corner as we stepped out our front door on the way to daycare.
Both kids were instantly captivated first by the loud rumbling of the truck and then by the two men sprinting from truck to trash can and back again. In a moment of what I’d like to consider great parenting I accepted I would be late for work, put Haiden’s car seat on the ground, and leaned back against our car to enjoy the show. Amelia, who was being held by her Nana, remained riveted as they worked their way down our block.
When the truck finally pulled up to our house, she greeted it with a whispered “truck” and a shy wave. Both men flashed my girl a big smile and waved back. I exchanged some pleasantries with them and then they got to the business of our trash. I could be mistaken but it seemed they emptied our can with a little more pageantry than required. Amelia was thrilled by their performance and she called “bye, bye” to the garbage men long after they had continued down the street.
This morning I watched Amelia experience something new. I made a connection with two people that do a job I’d hate to do but rarely give a second thought. I saw two men hauling stinky trash on a hot, humid morning stop and smile because my sweet girl was fascinated by their work. It was a good morning.