A Simple Hello

When I was a kid, after school and weekends were blank canvases to fill with imaginative ways to have fun. One of my favorite self-invented games was called Hi. Hi consisted of me walking around my neighborhood saying Hi to strangers, and keeping track of how many greeted me back. So as not to appear obvious in my intentions, I would discretely keep track with my fingers. My right hand would count those who responded positively - because I thought it was the ‘right’ thing for them to do – and the left hand counted those who snubbed me. Once a hand was full I would run home to my cardboard fort in the yard, and record my findings on a Scribble Pad: "5 hellos, 1 grouchy guy". Then I would eat a piece of candy and start over again, fueled by a sugar Hi.

Obviously, this was well before ‘don’t talk to strangers’ became the melancholy mantra of all parents, and my game would be frowned upon by the current generation. But it is one I still play today, intentional or not. And one I’ve mostly had great success with.

For a simple two-letter word, Hi carries a lot of power. It can begin a friendship, or end a fight. It can lift a spirit, or bury a hatchet. It can start a conversation, or end loneliness. It’s beautiful in its simplicity, requiring a minimal effort to make a memorable impact.

My 19 years and counting career at the Boston Herald started with a simple hello extended to a first time attendee at a newspaper conference. Several years after we met, my friend was hired as Classified Ad Director at the Boston Herald, and recruited me to join him soon after.

As a member of the Wicked Running Club, sporting a club singlet at a race will attract as many hellos as there are fellow club members, reminding us that we are part of a greater group of friends; friends who support and encourage each other to achieve our individual goals.

And I once said hello to a woman sitting next to me on a plane as I flew solo to the Chicago Marathon in 2003, chatting feverishly about my upcoming race and the causes I was raising money for. As luck would have it, my fast friend turned out to be a New Balance representative and a major sponsor of the race, resulting in a huge shipment of New Balance sneakers delivered to the Boys & Girls Club of Greater Salem a few months later.

But as simple and innocent as Hi can be, I’ve found out the hard way that it can also raise undue suspicion when interpreted as an entry for evil intentions. Last winter as I finished a cold run with a friend on a Saturday morning, we saw a little boy at Forest River Park pulling his sled. "Hi!" I yelled instinctively, "How’s the sledding?" He allowed himself a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, and continued on with his head down, looking sullen and sad. My running partner, who works at a Salem school, turned to me and said matter-of-factly "Don’t you know you’re not suppose to talk to children you don’t know?" "Of course I know that," I said awkwardly, recalling the innocence of my childhood Hi game, and sadly realizing how different the world is for today’s kids.

But one of the funniest Hi gone wrong stories I’ve heard was from my friend Lisa who, while boating with a friend, pulled into an unfamiliar cove where boaters were enjoying a leisurely afternoon. As they cruised around looking for a mooring, Lisa smiled and waved enthusiastically to her floating friends, only to find herself being waved over by the Harbormaster for some questioning. Apparently he had received several complaints about an unfamiliar and suspiciously friendly female boater, who they feared was ‘casing the cove’. So much for the myth of the implied boating bond.

Not one to be easily discouraged, I still say hello to strangers, but my approach has become more subtle, usually just a smile accompanied by a silent head nod. "5 hellos, 1 grouchy guy" I note to myself as I exit a local coffee shop, reminding me that while some things have changed, other things have remained the same.