It’s nice to be recognized, especially when you least expect it.
My surprise recognition came last week while visiting my hometown of St. Paul, doing my absolute favorite activity in the world: Soul Line Dancing. I’ve been attending Ms. Tina’s class for years, so it’s gratifying to be recognized and greeted and hugged by my Soul Line Dance Sisters (and one brother). I expect it, but I never take it for granted.
But here is what I didn’t expect. Some gray-haired middle-aged woman, whom I did not recognize, approached me and said, “Are you a Wagner?” Well, I am a Wegner, but close enough. I responded that yes, I am indeed a Wegner. She said, “I thought so. I recognized you.” As in, she recognized me from my childhood, my childhood of many (many!) years ago in Appleton, Wisconsin. She told me her name, and I recognized it, although I sure didn’t recognize her. Her family, like mine, had five kids, and our parents hung out together (my parents had a HUGE social circle – think golf, tennis, play readings, bridge, dance club, and cocktail parties of the ’60s).
So, how did this woman recognize me after all these years? It certainly wasn’t because she remembered me specifically from childhood. That would have been one of my sisters – the ones who made a lot of noise with their cheerleading, the boyfriends, the rebellion, and their performing in every high school play. I was none of those. No, she undoubtedly recognized me as a “Wagner” because I look remarkably like my mother.
This has happened to me before. One time I was at a rest stop in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Someone asked if I was a Wegner – again, that unexpected jolt of being recognized as part of the tribe of Wegner women. Another time, we were in Ames, Iowa at a wedding. A woman attending the wedding asked, “Are you Jean Wegner’s daughter”? I kid you not.
This “Are you a Wagner?” comment gave me great JOY this week. It was nice to be recognized, not so much because I was a particularly memorable kid (as opposed to my raucous, cheerleading, heartbreaking older sisters), rather I was recognized because I looked like my mother.
My mom passed away four years ago, and, like so many children, I know I carry a piece of her. Memories, talents, a sense of humor. My husband and children would tell you I have her quirky traits: “Oh, that is such a Grandma Jean thing you just did!” “Oh, that look on your face was exactly like your mother’s”. But I have the added pleasure of knowing that my face elicits memories for others too. All I have to do is show up and smile.
I am fortunate that my mom was so well-loved – it would be tough to have her face if she was a nasty person.
It gave me great JOY that someone recognized my mom and me after all these years.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom. I love you.