Sunday in the Park
A diminutive writer from Monroeville, Ala., died in February at 89, sparking a social media flood of tributes because of one unforgettable book and the timeless message it conveys.
Among the remembrances of Miss Harper Lee was a YouTube video from Notre Dame’s 2007 commencement. The university was giving her one of its honorary degrees, calling Lee “a national literary treasure whose work has left an indelible imprint on the American psyche with its themes of justice, tolerance and courage.”
Upon stepping to the podium to receive the degree, Lee looks out over the audience to see thousands of young men and women in academic garb holding up a copy of “To Kill A Mockingbird.” The gesture is genuine; her reaction is priceless.
“Her Pulitzer Prize-winning novel,” the proclamation said, “was a testament to the power of one person … who introduced us to some of the most poignant, most human characters in contemporary fiction. They, and she, taught us that we are more alike than different. That in the words of her heroine, young Scout, ‘There’s just one kind of folks. Folks.’ ”
The power of one person. How true that can be.
Two days later, a beautiful Sunday afternoon, a walk in the park with a friend.
The weather was gorgeous, and the park was coming alive with families on the playground and neighbors on the pathways — including one elderly woman I came to know regularly last fall.
She stood out because she wasn’t your typical South County walker: No lycra or GoreTex, no earbuds, no cell phone. She appeared always to be simply an old woman out for a walk, dressed plainly in a blue or gray dress with tights and a scarf.
Around the paths she saunters, sometimes with her hands behind her back, as if she’s relishing every visit, every breath of fresh air. And the best part: she always smiles and waves.
I always wave back. One day, I tried to start a conversation. “No Anglisht,” she said, but offered her hand. Another time, I asked her where she was from and she said “Albania, Albania,” with sparkling eyes and a smile.
I missed that in the winter months. I didn’t see her again until Sunday with my friend, Anne, another park regular who also had experienced the friendliness of this Albanian woman. We hurried to catch up to her, checking our iPhones for the word “hello” in Albanian.
“Pershendetje!” Anne yelled as we approached. “Are we saying that right?”
She turned around and smiled – chuckling at Anne’s Albanian, and offered her hand. “Hello, hello!” she said laughing, and walked on.
It made all of our days, this Sunday in the park. A simple hello, a warm handshake.
“There’s just one kind of folks,” Scout says in Harper Lee’s novel. “Folks.”
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