Talking with strangers about their trauma.

"You look so young" he said, looking back at me in the rear view mirror of the big yellow taxi sent from Stony Brook's Cab hub for students.

Here it comes --

"If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?" he asked, wide eyed looking at my face and then over to my toddler.

It was NEVER minded honestly, because I expected it. I had my daughter at 16 and I went into labor during the Thanksgiving weekend break of my senior year of High School. I had walked the halls pregnant in front of strangers, in a brand new school on the other side of the Island where I grew up. But instead of hearing whispers, I had received smiles and hugs. So many students were kind to me. The teachers gave me a pass to leave a few minutes early from each class so the halls would not be crowded for me.

It was nothing like my experience in East Meadow where I had grown up - the school that had kicked me out (only me, not the boy involved in that pregnancy) and the students who had come up with rumors around my entire character. I went from being the pregnant problem teen to being respected and shown love in my new town + school. It made all the difference in my life that I was welcomed by strangers. That experience would ripple into the next 14 plus years of my life and development as a young adult with a child.

"I was 17 when she was born. I am young." I replied with a smile.

We got right into it. He asked questions and I obliged. I shared about being a teen mom, being single raising a baby while in school, what I loved about College, and how taking my parents to court had changed my life.

He told me he was proud of me. He said I was brave. Bold. He said I was wise beyond my years and had an old soul.

Then his eyes narrowed in the mirror and his voice got a little raspy.

He told me he went through a brutal divorce. He said he was struggling the past year to heal and figure out who he was after over 20 years married. He said he struggled with his sobriety and was remembering things from his childhood. He felt hurt. Alone. He had no one to talk to and he never opened up to anyone about his feelings when the divorce happened. He felt very responsible for years of slowly losing himself.

I asked questions too. I pointed some things out about his identity and the chance for him to rediscover who he was now after the divorce. Because it might have been a painful and sad loss and he might never regain who he was before it again... but he had all this opportunity to become someone NEW.

He opened up some more and shared details of his past. Mistakes he had made. Regrets he had.

I listened patiently. I knew we were getting to our destination soon and that our conversation would be coming to a hault --

But I was so glad it had happened.

We pulled up slowly to the grocery store shopping center and I reached for the cash fair to pay him.

He stopped to park in front and then turned around to face me, his calloused hand grabbing the leather passenger seat frame. He was crying, shamelessly baring the tears rolling down his cheek.

He told me he felt like an angel was speaking through me. He said he really needed what I said and he thanked me for listening.

Without a second thought I leaned forward and I hugged him.

Like a niece hugs their favorite uncle, I embraced him in a one armed hug around his shoulder and rested my hand on his shoulder blade.

"You're welcome" I said softly. "Thank you for sharing your story."

----

I watched that cab drive away, holding my daughters hand tight as I waved to the driver.

I was so happy my daughter witnessed that moment with a stranger.

I was teaching her stranger danger and signs of danger, like every parent should.

But I was also teaching her something vital to the human existence -

Talking with strangers about their trauma is important. And hugs are a universal language.