He’s about a block ahead of me. I’m gaining on him steadily. He walks with an exaggerated limp on his left. The foot there angles sharply and points more at his ten o clock than his intended direction. The knee looks unstable; it shakes slightly with each step. As far as I can tell he makes the walk daily. His pace is such that I come up on him quickly as he pauses to look off to his right. The movements are arduous and, from the outside, appear painful and uncertain.
While his age is ambiguous he has been involved in, or at least seen, more than I likely ever will. He’s seen gruesome images; either in a paper, on television, or intimately of war and other horrendous acts. He was alive during four major United States conflicts. He could have been to the countries and in the battles that I’ve only seen described on the History Channel. His closest friends may have died overseas or in his arms. He may have numerous siblings lost to disease or other untimely deaths. His wife may have recently passed. I have only seen two wars on television; both appeared as video game demos, with no connection to reality. The only deaths close to me have been a girl in high school I crushed on, but rarely talked to, and a grandfather who I hardly ever spoke with.
He has been married, or was married, for likely twice my lifetime. They have gone through blessed times and cursed times. They probably raised at least a small family. His wife probably stayed home out of expectation. There was social pressure for her not to have a job. They have grandchildren that are probably my age. My mother chose to relinquish her career in favor of raising my siblings and I. We may have ended up with more money if she had remained an accountant, but I’ll never know. I’ve never asked her how she feels about that choice. My longest relationship was fourteen months.
The Depression was probably real for him. He either remembers it in detail or was a part of the relief just after. He has a real sense of money and was likely unfazed by the eighties. He saw socialist programs try to bring about change and saw the Big Business backlash to them. He’s had to deal with exponential inflation. Whatever money he had stashed for retirement is probably much less than he needs. I’m from a suburb and, while my parents are probably somewhere in mid-middle class terms, I haven’t had much for want. I also don’t have the same attitudes toward currency as some of my peers, so that may help. I’ve never gone without food or had to sacrifice in order to pay for a months worth. I rarely had hand-me-downs. I’ve seen pictures of the bread lines in books.
I could probably ask him a hundred questions about where he’s from, what he’s done, what he’s seen, who he’s met, how he feels, and what he thinks. And even those would only reveal a fraction of the scope of his life. Our perspectives could be dichotomous or almost identical with the only difference being genuine experience. He turns and flashes a quick smile with a spark of kindness in his eyes. Hi, he says.
“Morning,” is the only response I can muster, but the smile that comes with it is sincere. I resume walking ahead at my faster, and steadier, pace.