A few weeks ago I was walking home with the kids when I thought I heard my name.
I looked around. There were a few people walking down the street. Someone puttering around in her yard. The UPS man sitting in his truck.
I kept walking.
I looked around again. Was I hearing things? Who could possibly know my name? Or were they even speaking to me? Maybe someone else was named Elizabeth. Happens all the time.
But then I saw the UPS man was holding a package out of the door. Was he looking at me? Waving it at me? We were expecting a package, but . . . how could he know my name? How could he know that package belonged to me?
I hesitated another moment before deciding that the package was for me, that he had recognized me, that he remembered me from all the diaper and toilet paper deliveries we’ve put him through in the past couple of years.
“You didn’t know I was talking to you,” he said as I took the package.
“I just didn’t expect the UPS guy to know my name,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, I remember you.”
It totally made my day. The UPS guy knows me. He recognized me. He gave me my package on the street a block from my apartment. I feel so special.
And it’s not just him. As I was heading home after voting last week, with just Elsa in the sling, I came up beside an older lady. I’m sure I’ve seen her around the neighborhood, but I couldn’t tell you anything about her. She asked where the boys were, said she sees me around all the time.
And the ladies at the bakery, too. Every now and then I hear them talking as we pass the bakery for the 4th time in less than an hour as we ride bikes around and around and around the block. “There they are again! They’re so cute!”
I’m grateful to know that I’m not invisible. That people see me (and my kids) and they know me and they remember me. It’s a good feeling. To be seen.