On my way to the bank last week,
By an elderly Aboriginal man,
It left the cockles of my heart strangely warmed.
Hey, My Girl!
That's the way I was hailed.
You don't have 50 cents you can give me, do you?
No, I'm sorry, I really don't, I said.
But I smiled, and he smiled back.
And I continued to smile.
I liked that- My Girl.
It seems to be a term of endearment that I've heard quite often from our Native neighbors and friends... you hear it at the Mall, and on the street... My Girl.
For about 30 seconds, on Friday afternoon... he was someone else's Grandpa... but I was his girl.
And I didn't mind a bit.