Musings on the Orange Line at 5:30

Musings on the Orange Line at 5:30 p.m.

So I got on the Orange Line at Foggy Bottom, after a very long day visiting LCU Washington internship sites, for the very short, one stop ride to Rosslyn, my standing “home” away from home when I visit the city about five times a year.  I step in a crowded car, and stand by the door, dark blue suit and haggard face in tow, and the door shuts.  A tap on my thigh from the 30ish woman in the seat nearby, and I look down to see her ask if I want her seat.  I quickly nod “no,” but I contemplate a really, really amazing day. 

I’ve been coming to Washington for several years now, and I’ve gotten accustomed to the routine – commuting into the city each morning, depending on the Metro to get me near appointments, and walking – walking, really walking – did I say “walking?” -- walking a lot, all day, to get things done.  I saw five persons today, all over the region, and I experienced everything.  But most of all, I experienced age, and familiarity.  One touring couple asked me for directions.  Asked ME.  A cab driver asked me if I was a veteran, on the way to the V.A. hospital.  Two veterans – one black, one white – asked me what was my service branch.  A third young veteran thought he knew me; he claims to have been born in Lubbock; he is suffering from traumatic brain injury in Iraq. 

I felt, at 5:30 p.m., that I just wanted to go “home.”  No touring the nation’s capital, just getting to rest at the end of the day.

And some younger commuter offered me – the old, D.C. commuter me – her seat.

I never caught her eye again before I got off the train.  But I did see her reading material.  Just before I got off the train, I saw her pull out a plastic-covered folder full of information.  It clearly said “7-Eleven” on the first page.  It was a new employee training manual.

I am older, and I am blessed to have been empowered to direct an LCU Washington initiative.  I am very blessed.  And I am here enough to be viewed as an old man who commutes to work.  And I am very, very thankful for a wife, Sharolyn, who has supported this good work for students to excel. 

And, I am humbled again this week.  Courageous, perhaps naïve veterans “think” they know me.  Others, waiting hours to get medicine or see a doctor, assume that I am a veteran, and then when I deny, continue to talk to me with generosity and grace.  Touring couples see a suit and assume I am a Washingtonian.  And, certainly most noble, a sweet, hard-working Washingtonian just trying to get a job offers the old senior her seat.

It is indeed a wonderful world.