Confessions Of An Antiques Store Worker: We All Need A Hug

Working in an antiques store is kind of like sitting in an old general store with a pickle barrel and  checkers. That's a good thing. It's  like feeling the pulse of a town.

I find out people's stories. And that's what I love. Antiques are about stories. But to me it's just a vehicle to find out about what makes people tick. Tick. Tock. Like a vintage clock, chiming a comforting tone.

Usually the stories are upbeat. Sometimes controversial. And sometimes INCREDIBLY sad and touching.

Let me tell you about America. I can tell you about it, without leaving ye olde antiques store.

I rarely mention names on this blog (unless I get permission) and all the observations are true, but for obvious reasons I don't include all details so as not to intrude on people's deepest feelings.

Let me tell you about America. At least in my small town of Florence, Colorado.

I rang up a purchase for a nice gentleman. Another antiques dealer had stopped in to check out their booth. The gentleman asked if we had heard about a tragic story in the news that involved the death of a young person. We said yes. He said that was his child.

Tears immediately came to me, unasked. I wiped them away before anyone noticed. Then I noticed the other dealer with tears.

I am a shy person by nature, but leaned across the counter and gave the gentleman a hug. He hugged me back.

I told him I had read the obituary and also watched the news and told him something I remembered about his child, even though I never met his child. His eyes watered.

The other dealer told him that he had no idea how many people heard or read about his child and were praying for him daily, even though the death has faded from the news. The dealer went on to encourage him in every area of his dark journey.

In the midst of his grief and appreciation that two strangers "remembered" his child, he mentioned he was in the antiques store buying an item for his brother as a gift.

Let me tell you about small-town America. It's not different than anywhere else in America. There are good people everywhere. It's just easier to notice them in a small town. It's just easier to find a person with incredible courage that is out doing things for others even after losing a child. It's just easier to "remember" when someone had a tragedy. And it's easier in the slower pace to take time to share that human touch.

The gentleman started to leave. I wanted to hug him again so much--but thought I should not, since the first hug I gave him was spontaneous.

As he was leaving he looked at me and said, "May I have another hug? My child was all about hugging."

He did not have to ask twice.