Vol III: #80 Coffee Shop Summit
Four excited teenagers sit at a coffee bar made of dull corrugated siding and a formica counter top with a potted pothos spilling down over each end. Three boys and a girl, dressed like you’d expect California teenagers to be dressed, surf shoes, colorful socks and skinny jeans. From behind the counter, a curly haired man sporting a Jesus beard and a maroon t-shirt makes small talk with the quartet. The elder asks the younger a series of questions and listens to their reply, and in doing so, validates their presence. He’s talking to them as worthy peers, uninterested in the ticks or breaks in focus. He doesn’t care when they glance down at their phones or change the conversation. He flows with them rather than against them.
And now the curly Jesus is propped up on his arms across the counter, and he’s drinking a macha tea, and still in the exchange. And it’s clear the teenagers could leave. Their’s nothing in the dialogue forcing them to their seats, by obligation or expectation. And then the conversation became animated and exciting, one boy bouncing in his seat as the volume of the discussion rose. Then like thunder, one, now two, high fives echo through the shop, above the folk music and low drum of hushed conversations.
Through out the exchange, I receive over-the-shoulder glances from each member of the coffee shop summit, as I observe and type. I am the interloper, obviously. And they do not know why I sit and smile at my screen and off into the distance. They don’t know I am happy to observe their world where adults and teenagers respect each other and have joyful conversations. And I hope they keep on talking and enjoying each other, but if they don’t, I hope they latch onto these moments, where life wasn’t awful or complicated or newsworthy, but it was good.
