I discovered last week that I am officially a stranger.
I went to my six year old nephew's piano recital. He played the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean, and was even dressed in a Jack Sparrow get up. He's a cool kid.
Several other talented children played at the recital too, one of which, a boy about nine years old, really impressed me. After the recital was over, I thought since he was sitting behind me I'd take the opportunity to tell him that he did a great job. So I did. This is how it went down:
I turned around, smiled and said, "You did such a good job on your songs. I was really impressed." He looked at me like one of us was crazy (in his mind I was probably the crazy old lady talking to him), looked away and then walked toward his mom, who was sitting as far down the row as he could get from me. He left me hanging. I was figuratively high-fiving him, and he straight up dissed me leaving my hand in the air. Since he's a kid, I forgive him.
But that's when I realized that I'm a stranger. ME! I'm a "stranger." I'm nice; I'm not going to hurt anybody, much less a kid. But children don't know that. All they see is a lady they've never met, who for all they know is 100 years old and throws little kids in ovens a la the witch in Hansel and Gretel. Weird to think of myself of a stranger. But good for that kid for following the instructions of countless parents and teachers to not talk to strangers.