The Greatest Compliment

Watch two women greet one another and within the first 30 seconds they will compliment the other's clothes, hair, figure or how "natural" their most recent body enhancement looks. The man to man version of a compliment is envy based comments about the other's car, house, lawn, job, wealth or full head of hair. Small talk is filled with superficial flattery to fill in the uncomfortable silence when there is no common ground for conversation. Every knee jerk expression of exaltation corrupts the very purpose of a kind word freely offered. There are moments, however, that the perfect words come at the exact moment needed from an unsuspected source, restoring hope in the existence of genuine words of encouragement.

On an toasty spring day in Phoenix, temperature only a cool 95 degrees at 8:00 am, the door to the DES office was unlocked and ready for the morning rush of people requesting financial aid of some kind. My husband at the time, I say as though I'm legally liberated, and I were the first to enter since we had slept on the doormat the night before. Wearing the same Oscar the Grouch t-shirt, tan carpi's and black flip flops that had been my uniform for the past two weeks, I walked directly to the forms, numb from embarrassment of my life. The faded red shirt had small holes throughout, the pants safety pinned because the drawstring was confiscated in jail and the soles of my shoes were melted down from the mid-day, bubbling asphalt. I was filfthy from walking day and night in the soaring heat, my own joy was hair long enough to place in two buns on my head to keep from additional sweat down my back. At times I was sure Oscar was ashamed to be seen with me, let alone a permanent fixture on my body. Even a Grouch has standards.

With the forms complete and submitted, we sat in the school chairs provided and waited to be called. Although no one came in before us, we appeared to be lost in the shuffle or low priority. This delay was a blessing, we were comfortable in a cooled setting and given rest for our feet. A little too much time passed by and I was awakened, complete with drool, to our names called for an interview. Backpacks in tow, we sat with a social worker who, after 4 hours of waiting, was able to deny us any assistance within 2 minutes based on the fact we did not have an address. Hm mm... Homeless people without an address? Just preposterous, I tell ya. Needless to say, defeat set in and the tears began to roll. After I told my husband to suck it up and wipe his eyes, I headed for the restroom to attempt some form of a mock bath, and see why my own tear ducts were leaking, which I'm sure was an allergic reaction to rudeness.

Inside the restroom, I found two cramped stalls, a sink and vanity mirror. Not ready to actually see the mess I was, I headed to the second stall to just hang out and prolong the exit to reality. A few women (I assume) came and went while I lounged in my new abode, but after some time I realized too many people saw me go in, but not come out, and I was not about to take blame for any lingering odor. In order to avoid the outside world a little longer, I stuck my head in the sink and gave my hair a refreshing swirl under the tap. The water felt euphoric against my filthy, sun damaged scalp and I prayed the moment would never end. My prayer, however, was interrupted by the swing of the bathroom door, where a little girl walked in. I had seen her play with her little brother in the lobby. She was no more than six, he was maybe over a year. I couldn't imagine what she thought of this crazy lady with her head in a public sink, eyes red and without hope.

The blond hair girl passed by with a innocent look my way. She entered a stall, and to the best of my knowledge, completed the task she set forth to do. Before long, I was aware of her presence behind me and excused myself to the side so she could wash her hands. Once finished, she turned to open the door, but paused. Very sweet, yet bold, she asked why I was washing my hair in the bathroom. With complete truth, I explained that I didn't have a bathroom to bathe in. Perplexed by such a statement, she asked why. Realizing I should have been more clear, I continued to say that I did not have a home to go to and, therefore, did not have a sink or shower of my own. She was not going to let this go. The next question was why I didn't have a home. Wow, how to answer? I could only say that bad decisions were made, stupid, self-destructive, life threatening decisions that I did regret. This description seemed suffice and she once again turned to return to her family. With the door open, and half-way out, she turned around, looked straight in my eyes and said, "That red shirt looks very pretty on you", then went on her way. Never has an encouragement meant more or impacted my self-esteem like that. Though her face faded from my mind as soon as the day was through, her words are branded in my heart as the greatest compliment ever received. Today, I still wear that shirt and do so with pride.