A tribute to the Bankers in Stouffville

The banker said my name today. I was thrilled. She didn't greet me by name, but as I was leaving she said "Goodbye Jessica, have a nice day." I miss my small town bank. Those bankers knew everything about me. And I do mean everything. My name, my date of birth, my whole family, my trip to Nigeria, what school I was to have gone to, all the wedding details, how much I tipped the lady who gave me a massage... those ladies kept up to date with everything. Even now, when I walk back in, they smile and greet me. And the new ones are introduced to me. Although that part is kind of embarassing. I am introduced as "This is Peter's daughter, Jessica." Yes... Peter's daughter. No "Peter Crowe's daughter." Just "Peter's daughter." As if there is only one Peter in all of Stouffville. Apparantly there is only one who sticks out to them, as they laugh, and then tease and comment on how much of a tease dad is. But they're still up to date on my life. They know I am in Ohio. And they'd heard from one of my siblings that I was coming up to visit. I miss my old bankers. They would have said "Hi Jessica" when I walked in, and I could have greeted them by name. And we could have had a real conversation. But today was a huge step. The banker, whose name I don't know, said my name. Step one in becoming buddies with my new banker. At last. After six months.