
It’s a small world after all
“It’s a small world.” That’s a saying,and a Disney song, that has been stuck in my head my whole life. Ihave found many instances where this phrase proves true, andI’m not talking about how I run in to girl friends shoppingwith their moms last Saturday at Northpark Mall; that’s aweekly occurrence. I seem to find people I know or have aconnection to in the most peculiar places. This story is about mybest example. But how does one measure his “best”example of how it’s a small world?
It’s all about how far you and someone else are from theplace to which y’all are connected. In this case, I waspretty far from SMU when I met Michael, a fellowfuture-Mustang.
We waited for the Line 1 train, tired from a day of touringParis. My three friends and I, all Dallas natives, were headed backto the youth hostel to shower. We stuffed ourselves into thealready-full subway, and the eyes shot toward us. We were used tothe different looks people gave us: quick glances from those whocould care less that we were Americans, stares from interestedschool children trying to understand our English and intimidatingglares from Frenchmen who thought they were tough.
My friends and I looked around to observe the people’sfaces, because we liked talking to people. However, our transferstop was coming soon, so conversation, if any, would be limited. Iturned around and noticed a guy wearing a black baseball camp withhorns on it. (UT or the Houston Texans; I didn’t know yet.)The guy was talking with his friend, and I didn’t really wantto interrupt. Besides, all I wanted to know was whether or notthese guys were Texans.
Most Americans love talking to each other in foreign countries,so I figured what the heck, and I tapped him on the shoulder. Iasked if he was from Texas, and he was. I asked him which collegehe goes to, and he said he would be entering SMU as a freshman inAugust. “Really,” I said, “I’ll be goingthere as a freshman, too.” The train started slowing down. Weintroduced ourselves, and Michael told me he’d see me atSMU.
As I walked up the stairs to catch our next train that day, Irealized how small a world it is.
Because of my dad’s position in the airline industry, Ihave traveled extensively. My most interesting trip so far is theone I wrote about above, when I spent a month in Europe with threefriends. What I will remember most is all the conversations I hadwith people I didn’t know. People can, truly, teach eachother so much.
I was in the wrong seat on a train ride from southern France toRome, Italy. So, I switched seats and started talking to an elderlycouple. Communication is sometimes difficult when around fellowtravelers; but, if both parties are willing to make an effortlanguage barriers don’t matter. I drew a picture of Texas andsaid, “My home,” and the man said “Bush!” Ismiled a little, and his wife told me they were from Tehran, Iran.I didn’t know what to expect; my friends and I hadencountered a lot of anti-American sentiment. But, the couple wasso friendly. The man showed us magic tricks with my deck of cards,and the woman told us about their son’s likeness for Eminem.The man described what life is like in Tehran, and he even joked,saying in broken English, “I am a Muslim, and believe me,we’re all crazy!” We laughed.
The lesson we learned that day and throughout our trip is that,when away from home, give everyone a chance. The museum workers atthe Louvre probably didn’t think four teenage guys could seethe museum without getting in trouble; but they gave us a chance. Ididn’t know if Michael would even care that I was a fellowTexan. Similarly, I didn’t know whether or not the Iraniancouple would care to talk to some Americans. We stepped outside ourboundaries, and we had a great time meeting folks.
Postscript: Sure enough, I saw Michael the other day. We talkedfor a little while about how weird it is that two SMU first-yearsrandomly met each other on a subway in France during a minute-longconversation.