The Greeting

The Greeting

“They will forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”

Carl W. Buehner

I grew up in the sixties in Tarzana, on a cul-de-sac with fourteen houses, twenty-four parents, thirty kids, and loads of dogs, cats, fish and lizards, all planted in a former, and still very productive, orange grove. The Streets, Eugene, Margaret and their three boys, Jimmy, Bob and Bill lived across the street from us and one house up, towards the end of the cul-de-sac.

Jim Street, a few years older than me, was the coolest kid, by far, of any kid for miles around. His name and surfer hair helped, but his bold voice and self-assurance, inherited from his dad, helped even more.

So, it was little wonder that their garage-turned-playroom was the site of their early Beatle tribute band, with cigar box and broom handle guitars and record player in the background. They charged a quarter to get in and provided treats, such as baggies of popcorn and a coke.

Mr. Street was a real estate agent, and I bet he was good at it, as he was very engaging and had that bold voice and a larger-than-life, gracious personality. Gene and his wife, Margaret, seemed always to be home and lent stability to my life by their very presence. That was true of most of the parents on our street.

I knew everyone, and everyone knew me. There was always someone to play with and often several kids to play with, as our street was in fact a big, safe playground. Honorable mention to the Rices and the Kings, who lived just around the corner, as their six kids frequently added to our number.

We could blast out of the house and be gone for hours, unattended, whereabouts unknown, with one proviso: be home by dinner, or dark, whichever came first.

Mr. Street went for frequent walks, and to get anywhere he had to pass our house, going and coming. Though I spoke with Gene occasionally when visiting their home, it was really his walking greeting, as he briskly strode by, that I found myself looking forward to, over the years.

It was unusual for adults to go for a solo walk in those days. These were pre-jogging days, and the only runners were the occasional high-school kids.

I would greet him when I saw him coming, just to get his reply, and it was always the same.

“Good morning, Mr. Street,” I would shout.

“Beautiful day!” He would boom back.

Those words, so rich and bold, and full of life and love of neighbor made my day.

I felt blessed by his affirmation that it was indeed a beautiful day.

It could’ve been raining and gloomy, and Mr. Street would still infuse that day with beauty and love of life, in just two words. And it wasn’t just with me. It was with everyone he saw, and that was quite a gift that has kept on giving.

What power we have within us that, sixty years later, thinking of him and his greeting still makes me feel good. What an affirmation, what an opportunity.

-Hank