A Little More Irish

“It’s the Irish in me.”

We sat on the other side of a desk at Wells Fargo. Because she’s the best, my Grandma Margo came with me to set up my checking account. She and the lady banker at the desk had hit it off from the start. Grandma worked for Wells Fargo for 23 years before her retirement. She enjoyed talking about her time working for the bank and the banker instantly loved my grandma. It wasn’t just because they had the bank in common.

Grandma can get anyone to talk about their lives. Complete strangers open up to her. In this instance, Grandma had revealed that she was from Iowa originally, and the banker asked about Iowa with decided interest. Eventually, the banker told us how she was moving to Tennessee because her husband had family there. She was obviously nervous about the move. Grandma told her about a friend who visits family in Tennessee, assured her that it was beautiful there, and said that her friend never had trouble with the humidity. In response, the banker beamed.

During a lull in the conversation when the lady had to fetch some freshly printed papers for the business at hand, Grandma made a comment about how good the lady was at her job. She said the banker was much better at getting the job done than she had been. Grandma talked too much. Or, at least, thinks she does.

People love her stories. She’s an incredible storyteller. I told her so.

Grandma laughed. “It’s the Irish in me.”

I said, “I wish I had more Irish in me.”

At the end of the meeting, the banker paid special attention to Grandma, still beaming at her. Grandma had made her feel special.

After we left the bank, we went to lunch. There, she made the waitress feel special.

When we finished eating, I took her to see the student art show on George Fox campus and we crossed paths with a lady walking her dogs. Grandma struck up an impromptu conversation with her. Another person touched by Grandma’s Irishness.

People could serve to be a little more Irish.