When I got off the plane, I was cranky. I had not checked a bag, so went straight to Super Shuttle, which thankfully pulled up in less that 5 minutes. I joined four other girls. To my left, were two girls from England. They talked the entire trip, a lot about "kicking up a stick" with the travel agent for messing up their reservations. I sat next to them, irritated, stewing about how unfair it is that Americans always get a bad rap from talking and ignoring their international counterparts in foreign countries.
The girl behind me, in a shrill demanding voice, accused the driver of going the wrong way. It immediately put a quiet snarl on my face in the dark. He explained that he would take the freeway further because it was almost 1:00 am and there were, like, 3 cars on the road. She huffed a passive-aggressive sigh and settled back into her seat. I prayed she wouldn't say another word.
Another girl was watching a movie on her iPhone at top volume, and I stewed about her.
But, in that moment, I made a choice. I was curious about these people, so I just decided to see if I could learn a little bit more about them, instead of sitting there being angry. As it turns out, the British girls had been traveling for 24 hours, en route from England via Chicago. "I feel like a school girl...giggling like an idiot at everything. I'm sorry!" I told them, "No worries!" I could remember getting off the plane in New Zealand after over a day of travel. I had been overcome with exhaustion and at the same time stoked out of my mind for the adventure that had just begun. I could not begrudge them that kind of joy!
As far as the controlling girl in the back, I learned a little more about her too. When we got to her gorgeous apartment complex, she reluctantly admitted that the driver had been right about the alternate route. She said, "I didn't think there was another way because I've never done another way." Even she, tenacious law student that she is, learned something from the funny little man with white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and black suspenders over his oxford shirt.
The girl watching the movie pleasantly joined the conversation with the travelers and me, and by the time we had dropped her off down the street from my own apartment, we were friends.
Everyone's behavior is motivated by something, and often it is something that we've all experienced at one point or another. And if you take the time to get to know them, you might just find something even more extraordinary.
My uncle is a mysterious and boisterous man with a bit of a napoleon complex. He still lives in my grandfather's basement and he gives everybody in the family a hard time, always calling it like it is, even if you don't really want to hear it.
However, he is one of the most generous men I know. Every day, several times a day, he goes over to Mr. Seaman's house to help him bathe, go to the bathroom, sit up for a few hours, and eventually go to bed. Often, my uncle takes Mr. Seaman on outings--to Irish fest, to the grocery store, to the lake, or even just aimless drives around the beautiful Wisconsin country side.
"He'd never leave that room, otherwise," my uncle says. His own daughter, my uncle's childhoo friend, lives down the street and rarely even goes to visit.
On my last day in Milwaukee, I agreed to go over and meet Mr. Seaman. I was greeted by his warm and loving home caregiver, Liliana, who comes for two weeks on/two weeks off from her home in Jupiter, Florida to help take care of Mr. Seaman. She made me feel so welcome, as if I was one of the family.
I went into Mr. Seaman's room. He was lying in a hospital bed, dressed in a white-hospital gown/pajamas with faint blue stripes. His soft, wrinkled face stared up at me like a newborn. His eyes were a murky green-brown and as my uncle trumpeted an introduction, I took his soft hand and gave it a little shake. He couldn't say anything, but I could see the corners of his eyes squeeze into a smile.
They sent me out of the room while they changed him and gave him a bath, and I had a chance to explore his beautiful home. Over a dozen Currier and Ives originals and other paintings adorned the walls next to pictures of children and grandchildren. Pillows sat on the colonial furniture with embroidered sayings like, "If I had known grandkids would be this much fun, I would have had them first," and "In the cookies of life, friends are the chocolate chips."
My uncle came back into the room and showed me a painting of an enormous manor on the wall with a 40 acre estate. "That's his old house. Here, check this out."
He handed me a small coffee table book, written by a reasonably well-known historian, which is the story of Mr. Seaman's family. As it turns out, Mr. Seaman's great-grandfather was the donald-trump of furniture and funeral sales in Milwaukee in the 19th century. His grandfather and father made their fortunes building frames for the new automobile industry. However, by the time Mr. Seaman came around, the fortunes were kaput, so he set out to start his own enterprise.
His product? The snowplow. He singlehandedly, over a period of 30 years, built a multi-million dollar company on his simple design of a simple product. He was even able to retire at age 64 in the 1980s when he reluctantly sold the company to a former railroad conglomerate, after it was turning a profit of over 40 million per year.
When I came back into his room, Mr. Seaman was dressed as if he were going to head off to the country club at any moment in a nice green sweater over a white oxford and slacks. He was perched in a leather recliner watching the U.S. Open on TV. When I came over to him, I told him that I had read his story and praised him for his achievements. Liliana told him he was also a very wonderful friend. If you ask me, that's probably the best thing someone can say about you.
As he stared up at me, his hand in mine, he said, very quietly, "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," I said.
There are many times when I find myself judging other people or getting angry at their actions, but I've started to realize that some of the most annoying or abominable actions are motivated by some of the most fascinating reasons, and, if you take the time to listen, everyone has a story to tell.
