Man With a Feather in His Cap

For years now, I've seen a man walking around town in a suit and wearing a feather in his cap. He is an older gentleman, who I believe lives in the Senior home next to my office building.

There has been some speculating between a co-worker and I about this finely dressed fellow. Is he a retired door to door salesman, still dressed to impress, carrying around the briefcase for old times sake? Was he a ladies man from Europe, wining and dining all the seniors at the senior center? I've wondered for years.

Then yesterday while stopped at a red light, a woman and her mother crossed the street in front of me, and the mother tripped over the curb, falling onto the sidewalk. I immediately began to roll down my window to ask if I could do something to help. But before I could even get a word out, the man with the feather in his cap came out of nowhere and swooped the woman back onto her feet in what felt like an instant.

Out of his pocket came a stethoscope. A stethoscope! With such care he nodded towards the daughter and then with both hands on the mothers arms, he smiled as if to say, all is well.

As quickly as he came, he left. Before my light had even turned green yet! As he passed in front of my car, he turned once to glance back, and continued on his way.

So - I still don't know his story. I laughed with my co-worker joking - maybe he's a pick-pocket! But really, maybe not. Now I have even more motivation then ever to stop next time I see him, and introduce myself. Perhaps he's one of those angels among us...

God-Given Grandfather

When we moved into our house last year, I believe God lovingly placed us there with his own hands.

We have been blessed with two very different, but amazing neighbors on either side of us. One of which turned out to be the kindest, most loving 82 year old man named Andy.

I was nervous when we moved in because let's face it, with four children, there is a lot of noise. Here are these two elderly neighbors who probably just want peace and quiet and to rest. Then you have my son who thought it was funny to repeatedly throw the ball over the fence into their yard. The kids would scream and yell when they played outside. Sometimes, they would even run out of our yard and into Andy's yard to say hello. I thought - these people are going to hate us! But wow was I wrong. And pleasantly surprised.

The first time they ran in his garage, I was so embarrassed. I apologized as I tried to go insist they get out immediately, and tell them how inappropriate that was. My first clue that this man was a saint was when he waved his hand and said, "Oh they're fine, don't worry about them!" He went on to tell me he and his wife sometimes babysit the little girl who lives on the other side of their house, and that I could go home and my kids could stay and play a while. My first instinct was to say, "God no! Do you know what they will do to your  house?!" But again he waved his hand and shooed me away.

Before long, the kids would come home from Andy's with treats. Ice pops and ice cream. Cookies and crackers. And the great thing about being in your 80's, is you don't give a damn what time of day it is... Sometimes on the way to school at 8am, they would sneak over before I could stop them - and be riding to school with an ice cream cone.

One day when I was collecting my children from his house, I asked him about a beautiful rocking horse that was in his living room. "I made it", he said. "I make a lot of things. Here, come see", he told me as he led me into his spare room. What I saw brought tears to my eyes. Row after row after row of hand crafted, perfectly put together carved wooden trucks. Dump trucks, tow trucks, bulldozers, cement trucks, plow trucks - you name it, he had made it. With his own two hands... The tears in my eyes came from the notion of how much love and patience and time went into each and every tiny piece that all fit together to make these remarkable creations. I felt like he shared a piece of his soul with me, when he showed me those trucks. Because he put a piece of his soul into every one of them.

I don't know a whole lot about Andy. I do know he has a Scotch ("Sometimes a double. Sometimes a triple") every day at 4pm, and if he misses that time he skips it. I know he wakes at 4am every day and has three cups of coffee. I know I've never, ever seen him sitting down or relaxing. "If you sit down, you die!" he once told me. I know he calls his wife Toots. I know he is a man of routine. But he never minds for a second my children coming over and interrupting that routine. I know the Joy I see on his face is due to the simple process of giving and receiving. He makes my children so happy just by talking with them or giving them a little treat. Recently, he even took them to McDonald's. And it brings him so much happiness to do this. 

And finally, I know that Andy and Toots sold their house, and will be moving next month. I know we will miss them like we would family. I know I'll cry when they leave, and that my children probably will too. I know that Andy was a gift. A grandfather of sorts. That's what is has been, like a God-Given Grandfather.