Can a brief encounter with a
stranger change your life forever? Of course it can. You're rolling your eyes,
I can see you. Well, let me tell you about Howard Parks…
This isn't the tale of an
unsung hero--although, for all I know, Howard Parks has rescued people from
burning buildings, performed the Heimlich maneuver on dozens of choking
victims, and saved countless texters from oncoming traffic. Anything is
possible. I'm not saying Howard Parks isn't heroic and inspiring, he is. If he
weren't, my husband and I wouldn't speak of him so reverently; we wouldn't use
his name in times of crisis; we wouldn't ask each other in hushed voices,
"What would Howard Parks do?"
Twenty-four years ago, long before
Equifax spewed your personal data into the world, including the name of your
first pet, Hammy the Hamster, and long before Facebook gave away all of your
secrets, right before they gave away all of your friends' secrets, Howard Parks
was vigilant. I imagine he slept with one eye open as his brain conjured the
many ways that things could go terribly, terribly wrong. He was British, which
gave him an air of credibility. He was calm, which made him seem reasonable.
And he was insistent, a quality many people found annoying, but which we found
endearing in the extreme. It's why we love him.
It started when Howard Parks sold us a car over two decades ago, amicably agreeing to a price and
shaking hands on it. We arranged to meet at the bank to seal the deal. As we
completed the paperwork, Howard Parks asked the bank manager many pointed
questions and requested copies of everything. The manager refused, stating that
it was against policy to provide the seller with a copy of the check and that he
would have to wait for it to arrive in the mail. Howard Parks explained
politely but firmly that he wasn't leaving without it. Our eyes widened to see
this challenge of authority, this rejection of societal norms, this refusal to
budge. And it worked! Howard Parks won the face-off and entered our mythology, the
first in our pantheon.
Now, when we encounter
difficult people or situations where we might become lazy and careless, we utter
the two words that always save the day--Howard Parks. His name also serves as
an admonishment. When my husband didn't document a conversation he had with an
airline and almost lost our ticket vouchers, I shook my head. "That's not
how Howard would have done it." His
shoulders sagged with embarrassment, "I know." And when my husband drove
two hours to go canoeing on his day off and surrendered his driver's license to
the rental facility, he came home with the wrong license.
"I should have
checked," he said. "I didn't know I had to be Howard Parks even on my
day off."
I didn't say what we both
already knew. You always have to be Howard Parks.
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