Human Encounters

My favorite part about traveling is not the sights I see or the places I go but the human encounters on each journey. The places are great, of course, but the people are what often stick most. 

For example, traveling to Greece I most remember the Greek couple I met who have lived in Mississippi for 30 years and gave me their phone number and told me to call if I got in trouble. He'd also tried to marry me to one of his sons, ha! 

In New York I met a guy who rode his back to California and back in 40 days just for the hell of it. 

In China, well, that list is too long for this blog. :) 

But today, today, I met someone that really made me think. Differently than when I usually meet someone, anyway. 

His five o'clock clock shadow is salted with gray hairs. His bottom lip sticks out due to his thick gums. His hands are callused and cracked from years of living. But mostly they're cracked and callused because he's a drummer. As the daughter of a drummer, I recognized the wear on his hands. This man to my left is named Billy. Of course I'm southern, and given that he has seven grandchildren, he's definitely my elder, so I'll call him Mr. Billy. 

When I boarded the plane I found my seat, 41F, occupied by Mr. Billy. This left the aisle seat, 41G, clear. I told him, "I don't mind if you don't because I got long legs and pee a lot." When he responded to me I immediately recognized the long southern drawl of my people. But more distinct than that, I recognized the drawl of an older gentleman from the South. A man of color, too. Now, only people from the South can recognize the multiple differences and distinctions of southern accents. And the older black generation, in my opinion, have one of the better accents, which I love. 

Surprised to see a 70-something-year-old black man on a plane leaving China I instantly engaged in conversation. (Sidebar: many Chinese have a prejudice against black people, too.) 
Confession: I was just tickled to speak to someone from my home state so I didn't have to grade my language or speak slowly and still be understood. 

Anyway, turns out Mr. Billy is a traditional jazz musician from New Orleans who'd been playing with his band in China for one week. 

I told him my daddy was a drummer and my grandfather a saxophonist, I went to Louisiana Tech, was a teacher in China, and so on. 

Then I said, "any chance you're playing in New Orleans tomorrow because I'll be there for two days." 

So he gave me the time, band name and location. I had every intention of going except his tomorrow wasn't the same as mine because I was still stuck on Chinese time. 

This meeting gave me a bunch of feelings and I think mostly because I was in a mixed state of being overwhelmed and excited. A lot was going to happen in the next three weeks and even more had happened in the last 42. 

I'm always excited to talk to music people, especially from older generations because my interest in older genres of music usually throws people for a loop. Music is kind of mine and my dad's thing so it always gives me a feeling of nostalgia and home. 

All those great feelings aside, a tinge of anger, maybe more annoyance than anger, emerged. Looking and speaking to this sweet old man I found myself wondering, "who in the world could dislike humans based on skin color and how much shit has he dealt with in his decades of living?" 

It's a bizarre thought I know but meeting Mr. Billy will always remind me why I never see color. 
Needless to say, I think meeting Mr. Billy has been my favorite human encounter so far. It's nice to see where people can go in life, no matter where they come from or what they look like. :)