Being Friendly Has a Price

Years ago I lived in a neighborhood where a particular neighbor turned the other way whenever I drove by. I tried to be friendly and wave, but more often than not, I waved to a back-side. It bugged me.

Another neighbor I have had always waved. Didn't matter if they were bent over a car trunk unloading groceries, or if they were carrying a baby on a hip AND rolling in a garbage can, they found a way to wave whenever I passed by. You'd think after the years I spent waving to another neighbor's back-side, I would enjoy the friendly waves of this over-zealous waving neighbor. I didn't. It still bugged me.

(Maybe I have waving issues? Actually, we won't go there. Mike on more than one occasion has accused me of "pretending not to see people." His accusations may or may not be accurate.)

For the most part though, I wave.

Apparently, I need to teach Luke that sometimes it is okay NOT to wave. Especially while riding a motor scooter. Next time he is on his motor scooter (which won't be for a while), a courteous smile, perhaps with a slight nod of his head for some added politeness will be sufficient to greet passer-bys.

I'm a little disheartened to think, that me, a "may or may not selectively see and wave at people type gal", has a son who politely and courteously waved at a passing neighbor, and now has a broken wrist as a result.

Waving and motor scooters obviously don't mix.

(Third cast on his left arm, second red one, all in the month of March of different years, different bones, different reasons.)

For the record, I am paying a "royalty" to Luke for disclosing the real cause of his injury. He told me if I blogged about it, I needed to "Make up a better story like, I hit a rock on the sidewalk or something. Otherwise you should pay me per sentence."

Apparently when you are 11 years old, it is less embarrassing to crash if you hit a rock, than to crash for waving to a middle-aged woman.

Poor Luke.