Everyday Illusions

If you saw a thirty something mother and father pushing a well used umbrella stroller along the sidewalk, accompanied by their two young boys, this would be average.
If neither boy was in the stroller, this would still be common as kids get tired of sitting and like to jump around.
If the stroller’s seat was the temporary resting place for a worn blue duffle bag with white trim and a tattered black back pack, you might stare an extra second, but likely no new thoughts would form.
Now concentrate as you picture the next scene.
If a large clear garbage bag stretched to capacity, clearly carrying a pink floral comforter and two sleeping pillows was tied right behind the left hand grip, stuck out like a massive thought bubble and two plastic t-shirt bags carrying lunch leftovers and empty drink containers hung from the right handle, you might widen the circle between you and them as you pass by or cross their path.
But what would you do if one of the boys turned his hazel eyes up to meet yours and said a brilliant, “Hi!”
When we were that family of four, looking like a brood of vagrants, walking downtown Chicago one afternoon while my mom went through exploratory surgery, not a single person said “Hi” back.
They had no idea we were taking clean clothes and bedding a short eight blocks from my parents hotel room to Northwestern Memorial hospital to help my dad’s makeshift window seat bed more comfortable so he might endure a less uncomfortable night’s sleep at his wife’s side in her single room.
That walk marks the only time my children’s bright eyed greetings have been blatantly and consistently shunned. They didn’t even notice.
What if we weren’t average?