By Gary Lloyd

Most folks today rarely, if ever, look around.

Do I want someone staring down at me from one of those elevated booths as I slather fried chicken in ranch sauce at Jim ‘N Nick’s? Of course not. But I’d take that every time over a dining room full of zombielike humans, mere feet from each other, faces buried in a glow of 15-second videos, swiping from one to the next with greasy fingers.

Sadly, that mindless scrolling is most of what we see these days, and not just over plates of chicken tenders. We see it in the chill of the frozen food section, in the heat of a Gulf Shores beach chair, in the dark of movie theaters, in the left lane of Interstate 459 at a smooth 87 mph. It hurts me each time I see it, more so because I know, at times, I’m also guilty.

But occasionally, in a world that needs an intervention due to technological overdose, there’s an old man who restores my faith. He’s never the same man by name, but always the same man by outlook, by character. His collared shirt is always tucked into pressed khaki pants, and he’s never one to shy away from conversation with a stranger. One night in August, that old man was perched in one of those elevated booths with his wife, under a flat-screen television tuned to ESPN.

We were at Jim ‘N Nick’s for dinner after our son’s fifth day of 3K, an interesting time for us all. A quiet house. Trusting others with our son. Our son was devouring honey-butter-covered cheese biscuits while we preached to use his “inside voice.” It’s been nice having a daily routine, a normal work schedule. But I also feel guilty for that feeling, for feeling as if life is somehow easier at times with our son at school. I suppose it’s why parents try their absolute best to fill the remaining time with trips and experiences.

As we played I-Spy – our son seems to only want to play this game at Jim ‘N Nick’s – the old man and his wife prepared to leave. The old man stopped at our table and told us how precious our son was, how time slipped by so fast as his own son graduated high school and then college and was now a college professor.

“Treasure these moments,” he told us.

Then, he was gone, off to the closest handicap space in the parking lot, settling himself into the passenger seat wrapped in an Auburn University cover. I suppose I can forgive him for that. Maybe.

As we drove north on Highway 11 back home, country music shuffled on my Apple CarPlay. I always shuffle my 400-plus songs and hope for something I haven’t heard in a while. Of all the songs to play at the time, still thinking of the old man with the three simple yet powerful words of advice, “Three-Year-Old” by Eric Church played. It’s impossible to pick the best lyrics, but here are my favorites:

Sometimes, all you need is a hand to hold

Couple arms to kill the cold

And when you’re wrong, you should just say so

I learned that from a three-year-old

Gary Lloyd is the author of six books and a contributing writer to the Cahaba Sun.