Today is my Dad's birthday. Haines Moffat would have been 69 years old. This is the third year since he made his transition. While I think of him on and off throughout the year, today is a special day to remember.
I really just wanted to share a story that my Dad would tell sometimes, especially when we had company over and he was showing slides of his travels. When he graduated from Wagner College in the mid-1960's, the Vietnam War was ramping up and the draft was definitely going to happen. My Dad was a pacifist, but I don't think they had that particular label at that time, or at least he didn't call himself that in public. From what I know of him, it makes sense that he would have refused to kill people. I never considered him a draft-dodger, just someone who knew in his own heart that he would not become a soldier (by choice or by force).
Dad had a three-pronged plan: either get into graduate school (seminary), be accepted into the Peace Corps, or ride his bike across the NY/Canada border (and then what, go into hiding?). And he took whatever came first -- the Peace Corps (which was a fairly new governmental program at that time). He spent two years in the Philippines teaching economics at a local college. That time spent out of his home country was a highlight of his life. When he came back he did earn his degree from Seminary, became a minister, and continued to bike ride for the rest of his life.
Dad spent much time walking on the dirt roads between villages (it sounded as though he never had his own transportation). At first he was confused as to why the locals were so standoffish. He was trying to be friendly but felt that they were not reciprocating. In the U.S. our way of greeting each other as we pass on the street is pretty direct: look someone in the face - if not directly in the eyes, raise your hand slightly as if to wave, actual waving, saying "hello" or "good afternoon." Even just a nod of your head is more than what my Dad was receiving.
One day he realized that the Philippinos were saying hi to him, by raising an eyebrow as they passed! It was such a subtle gesture he had missed it before. Being such a friendly people-person, I can see why this revelation was so important to Dad.
I think about this story every time I go bike riding on our local bike path along Bear Creek. There is such a range of acknowledgements from passers-by. Some people smile and say "g'morning!" (a full "good morning" is almost too long if I'm biking past walkers - there's not enough time). Some people just look at my face and nod. Other bikers might just raise their fingers up but keep the palm of their hand on the handlebars.
And there are some that don't acknowledge others at all. This makes me sad because I interpret this as either people are rude (not taking part in cultural norms), self-centered (not caring about others), or fearful of others - like I used to be, shy.
I miss living in Detroit where every single person looked you square in the face and said a full "hello" to you as you walked by, no matter your race and no matter if you were in a rich neighborhood or the 'hood. It made me realize how much I do fear other people, but how easily that is diffused by acknowledging the presence of another human being. It was living in Detroit that made me less shy.
So, every time I smile and say loudly "G'Morning!" I also think to myself, "Here's to you, Dad."
