Ella and Maya Angelou

As we drove to school this morning Ella told me about a little game that she plays. Every morning after I drop her off she sees how many people she can say good morning to before she gets to her classroom. I was astonished! What a great way to start the day, I thought and I commended her on being friendly and open. I told her that saying "Good morning" to people must make them feel really good, especially since she commented that she tries to say it to people that she doesn't know well. I beamed with pride as I watched her walk toward the door to the school, ponytail swinging side to side.

Then I went home and opened the newspaper. Have you ever gotten a strange feeling when something coincidental happens? Kind of like a little thrill and a shiver up your spine all at once? That's how I felt when I read the following letter to the editor in today's Washington Post, written by Teri Simpson Lojewski of Berlin, Maryland.

The lesson in Maya Angelou's 'Good Morning'

Published: June 2, 2014 - Washington Post

“Good morning.” Suddenly, the voice penetrated my cocoon. I had been oblivious to the hustle and bustle in the State Department portico as a colleague and I exchanged pleasantries after an unsettling early morning meeting in 2008. The voice came from an elderly African American woman in a wheelchair. I realized that she had said “good morning” to us repeatedly. My face flushed with embarrassment, and I wondered how long she had waited for our attention. She wore large, dark sunglasses and sturdy black shoes. She was elegantly dressed and carried a beautifully carved walking stick.

“Good morning,” she said again. She swiveled her attention between my colleague and me, and continued in what I now recognize to be that familiar, deliberate cadence, “I must say good morning to you, and you must say good morning to me. We must all say good morning to one another. We cannot just pass one another without saying good morning.” And my worries and frustrations melted to a puddle. I smiled. With grateful respect, I responded to this rich voice of strength, “You are so right. Good morning.”

Her purpose with my colleague and me achieved, she signaled the person pushing her wheelchair to continue into the State Department. There, I read in the following day’s Post, Maya Angelou presented an award to Desmond Tutu at a ceremony in his honor. In the days that followed, grounded by the poet laureate, I got through my early morning trans-global phone calls and e-mails refocused on results that matter rather than the sometimes-petty political process that surrounds them. “Good morning,” I began each one.

I often believe that children have the greatest insight of all, although they do not realize it. I showed Ella this letter to the editor and tried to impress upon her how amazing it was that I read this right after she told me about her good morning game. She didn't get it. Some day she will, but not at age nine.

Ella and Maya. Maya and Ella. Great minds think alike.