My Pal Chuck
Before I adopted a pup of my own, I used to step outside my local coffee shop numerous times each morning to play with the local dogs. Almost every morning, right around 630, I'd see a little Westy named Bella. She was pretty independent but over time took to me a bit. And as I got to know her, I also got to know her owner, an 81-year-old gentleman named Chuck. For months, we just talked basics: weather, politics and the neighborhood, but very gradually, I felt as if a friendship was forming. Once I adopted Bennett, I'd run into him and Bella in the park and throughout this little area that we call home. Our conversations started to move a bit past the basics. I learned that, like me, Chuck grew up in New Jersey. He in the South while I was raised up North. And then the conversations grew.
One of the things I miss most about my grandmother, who passed away in 2001, are the conversations we had about her life. I've obviously grown more interested in such things as I've aged, and I sometimes reflect and regret that I didn't spend more time with her. I often wonder what it was like to live during WW2, the Civil Rights Era, Vietnam, Kennedy, Armstrong and Glenn, Willie Mays and such. But at least with my grandmother, and my grandfather who died when I was four, I no longer have those opportunities. But I do cherish those Sunday afternoons when I'd sit around with my grandmother in her apartment and just talk.
This morning on my way to grab coffee, right outside the shop sat Chuck and Bella. It'd been a week or so since I'd seen them, so Chuck and I had some catching up to do. After he shoveled a few treats to Bennett, we got into the oil spill and such, but it became clear to me that Chuck's mind was elsewhere. And a few minutes in, he began to open up. He said he'd watched a program last night that profiled some friendships from wars past. And then he paused. And I saw tears forming in his eyes. He looked slightly uncomfortable at this show of emotion. "It's okay, Chuck. I'm a pretty emotional guy myself," was all I had. And it seemed to work, on some level. He went on to talk about his friends from the Korean War. Chuck was enlisted for close to two decades, and he still shows signs of guilt at having never served in combat. He knows the damage that such a role can play on families who lose loved ones and in the day-to-day lives of those who make it out alive. "Years and years of therapy," he said as tears welled up again. "You just can't imagine," he said. "Although I served for many, many years, I'm against almost all wars, unless absolutely necessary." He spoke of people he knew who fought, died and were wounded in WW2, Korea and Vietnam. And he continued to try and control his emotions, despite my mild efforts at letting him know that it was okay.
In some senses, Chuck is giving me what I was too young to understand from my grandfather and maybe too immature to appreciate from my grandmother. As he got up to head home he turned to me, "I'm sorry I lost it like that, Chris," he said as he looked to the ground. I reached out to shake his hand. "I can't thank you enough for sharing that with me, Chuck." I saw him well up once again as he turned to walk away.
One of the things I miss most about my grandmother, who passed away in 2001, are the conversations we had about her life. I've obviously grown more interested in such things as I've aged, and I sometimes reflect and regret that I didn't spend more time with her. I often wonder what it was like to live during WW2, the Civil Rights Era, Vietnam, Kennedy, Armstrong and Glenn, Willie Mays and such. But at least with my grandmother, and my grandfather who died when I was four, I no longer have those opportunities. But I do cherish those Sunday afternoons when I'd sit around with my grandmother in her apartment and just talk.
This morning on my way to grab coffee, right outside the shop sat Chuck and Bella. It'd been a week or so since I'd seen them, so Chuck and I had some catching up to do. After he shoveled a few treats to Bennett, we got into the oil spill and such, but it became clear to me that Chuck's mind was elsewhere. And a few minutes in, he began to open up. He said he'd watched a program last night that profiled some friendships from wars past. And then he paused. And I saw tears forming in his eyes. He looked slightly uncomfortable at this show of emotion. "It's okay, Chuck. I'm a pretty emotional guy myself," was all I had. And it seemed to work, on some level. He went on to talk about his friends from the Korean War. Chuck was enlisted for close to two decades, and he still shows signs of guilt at having never served in combat. He knows the damage that such a role can play on families who lose loved ones and in the day-to-day lives of those who make it out alive. "Years and years of therapy," he said as tears welled up again. "You just can't imagine," he said. "Although I served for many, many years, I'm against almost all wars, unless absolutely necessary." He spoke of people he knew who fought, died and were wounded in WW2, Korea and Vietnam. And he continued to try and control his emotions, despite my mild efforts at letting him know that it was okay.
In some senses, Chuck is giving me what I was too young to understand from my grandfather and maybe too immature to appreciate from my grandmother. As he got up to head home he turned to me, "I'm sorry I lost it like that, Chris," he said as he looked to the ground. I reached out to shake his hand. "I can't thank you enough for sharing that with me, Chuck." I saw him well up once again as he turned to walk away.
Comments
Post a Comment