I have been debating on whether or not to tell this story. Maybe because this is a little personal and I am a private person. But, after some back and forth, I decided…..oh, why not. Let me preface this piece by explaining a little about the man I married. If you recall, in my last post I mentioned we met on Seventh Avenue in front of Madison Square Garden, and being from a small town in New Jersey, that automatically set him up as different. Possibly his lack of resemblance to everyone else is what prompted sheer strangers to walk up to him on the street in Manhattan, and say hello. If a person is from the city, the commonality is to go their own way, kind of like that “Deliver us From Eva” thing I mentioned in my Post Office story.
We know that men have an “all boys club” attitude and when they pass each other it’s never without one kind of recognition or another. Even if one doesn’t know the other, they are subject to extend some sort of greeting. But, with my husband it’s something that goes a bit further – it has to be seen to be believed. I always tease him with, “children and animals,” because they are the ones who most understand, and come under the influence that is this man.
Okay, moving forward, he came home the other day with a story, and before he could get to the “punch line” I had already welled, and like my daughter, the tears began to fall without the slightest undulation of a shoulder.
His story began with him standing in the bowels of a local convenience store as he tried to find something to satisfy his sugar calling, when out of nowhere an elderly gentleman touched him on the shoulder. My polite and eager to give assistance spouse turned and acknowledged his presence. The senior lifted a can, ran his finger across the words, and asked, “Can you help me read this.” My hubby’s reply, “Of course, I can. It says, Diet Mountain Dew.”
The elder griped his shoulder, thanked him, and replied, “I never learned to read, and of all the people in this store, I knew you would help. You have the kinder face.”
As I said previously, before he could finish telling the story, he had to run off and gather the tissues, because the tears flowed, and I couldn’t stop them. I think though, there is a strong possibility I’m becoming sappy as I age. In any event, this tale revealed itself short and simple, but its connotations spoke volumes, which prompted me to share. After knowing my husband for thirty-two years I must say the constant is that he is completely unchanging, and although that can sometimes be a bad thing, it is my salvation.