The Nice Day Man

He’s so little and so homely and shriveled that he’s actually adorable. He shuffles along - not too fast, not too slow - in grey runners that I’m sure didn’t come off the assembly line before 1982. He walks head down, slightly side to side, and seems to be keeping a rhythm if you watch his mumbling lips move...step on a crack, break your momma’s back...I liken him to the Dick Van Dyke character in Mary Poppins. There’s something jovial in his shuffle and I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he started skipping or if penguins suddenly started dancing along beside him. Every time I pass him, without fail, he’ll raise his head - resting it against his right shoulder as if it’s too heavy for his neck - and say, “Nice day we’re havin’,” and continue on his way. He does it on nice days. He does it in the dead of winter when you’re cursing the fact that the kids drank the last of the milk and there’s no way the baby’s going to wait until morning and the snow’s so heavy that it covers the windshield as fast as you can brush it off. “Nice day we’re havin’.” Without even a hint of sarcasm. Clouds so dark, the sky rumbling and threatening. “Nice day we’re havin’.” I adore the Nice Day Man. Couldn’t we all learn a little bit from him? Check our attitudes a little more often? Stare up at the sky - no matter the weather - and declare that yes, today will be a nice day. For better or worse. For wet or for dry. Today will be a nice day we’re havin’.