Like what? . .a river in Qandahar.

I asked my boss today, "like what?"

We were watching a skateboarder - of course with no padding or headgear - go down the street in a wavy line, the way skateboarders do - in front of a bus.

The bus was coming to a stop behind him, and he slipped between the cars stopped at the street light and the sidewalk and was out of site before the bus came to a complete stop.  He was fine. But had he slipped, or made some other mistake, he would have been roadkill.

We stopped for a moment to watch before we entered our building.  I was like, "Whew!"  My boss thought out loud that at that age one feels indestructible.  Then he shared that when he was that age he felt that way and did many things even worse than what we saw.  At that point, I could have nodded my head and said, "I bet." Or, I could have said, "Really? I don't believe you. (to try to goad him into sharing more)"  Or, I could have been absent-minded and just nodded.  But instead. . .you know what I did.

Then he shared that he used to swim across a raging river in Qandahar in a competition with his friends to see who was the strongest swimmer.  They competed for who could cross it with the shortest line across the expanse, the rapids always pushing the line to be longer.  He said there were plenty of rocks he could been killed on, and other dangers - well, they don't call them 'rapids' for nothing.

These stories from his life are precious.  They come from a time in Afghanistan when life was good.  People were freer back then, nature was accessible, and food was delicious.  Now there are Taliban, landmines and. . .well, the food is probably still good, but not in the succulent, abundant way he and his wife describe when they talk about the old days.

So that's the power of "Like what?" Remember that when someone shares something with you.  Ask for details - they might actually want to share more but need to know you're really listening.