Out of the Mouths of Babes

It was moving day, summer of 1981. My oldest daughter was four years old and by dinner time we weren’t even close to getting our new abode into any kind of shipshape order so I decided to try out the brand new, and highly advertised Taco Bell in town. As was the case with most errands, Sara came along, excited to sample what she had seen in the television commercials.

Talk about an effective advertising campaign. The parking lot was packed and we had to find a spot on a nearby street. Squeezing into the vestibule we waited until we could squirm our way to the back of one of the five long lines of eager new patrons. I recall thinking this was not the best choice for take-out on this busy day but heck, we were there and with eyes as big as saucers Sara was taking in all the buzz in the restaurant.

Do you recall a time when you were in a large, noisy crowd when just for a solitary moment everyone almost miraculously stopped talking and an eerie silence ensued? Well, that was exactly when my observant child, now poised up on my shoulders, decided to exclaim at the top of her little lungs, “Daddy, daddy, look at the wery big brown lady!” pointing to, well, a large African-Canadian order taker. I could feel the patron’s stares as the noise began to ramp up again beginning with the sounds of snickers from the crowd.

I thought I would, as my mom used to say, ‘die a thousand deaths’ right then and there, probably turning the color of what I would soon learn was their hot sauce. In all fairness to my speak-her-mind Sara, living in a predominantly white city at the time, this smiling woman certainly stood out. And her smile grew even wider as she sought out that innocent voice way back in the crowd. To my utter delight, she blew Sara a kiss, and the kiss was returned. How cool was that?

When we eventually got to the counter, I introduced myself and Elesha wouldn’t even allow my apology. She asked Sara her name and told her she was putting a big surprise for her in the bag that she could open only when she got home. Tickled pink, Sara began studiously considering what she wanted to order as if she didn’t have enough time to make her choices while waiting in line. During the decision making process, Elesha asked me what I did for a living and I told her I owned a drycleaning business and she said she knew where some of my stores were located. We continued conversing until our order was bagged and I concluded our chat with the promise that we’d be back.

All the way home, one of the best persuaders I’ve ever met tried to convince me to give her the bag for a looksee, which I resisted, and Elesha’s surprise was as best as I can recall, a deep-fried, sugary cinnamon treat which was gleefully devoured post tacos and burritos.

I became a fan of the early Taco Bell and mostly because of a wonderful young woman named Elesha. She would always call me by my name, ask how business was, and whenever I didn’t have precious cargo in tow, she would always want to know how Sara was doing.

Just as I will never forget this out-of-the-mouths-of-babes moment, I’m sure neither will Elesha.

It’s the little things in life that we will recall at the moment of our death… including, and most assuredly, the embarrassing ones!

©Rick Beneteauwww.ModernDayMastery.com