Here's to You, Man

This post is dedicated to the lovely man who I sometimes see walking on the side of the road in the evenings. I live in a growing suburban town located just south of the Twin Cities (in Minnesota, for those of you who aren’t familiar). For some reason, we don’t have many sidewalks connecting all of our suburban sprawl, so people don’t usually walk on the main roads. If they do, they have to walk on the sides of them, though luckily the shoulders are often wider and paved in the busier parts of town.

If I’m lucky, and it’s just the right time in the late afternoon/early evening, I will see this lovely old man gracing the road’s shoulders, giving me a glimpse of what an earlier time might have looked like–neighbors walking to each other’s homes to chat or get a cup of flour, kids walking to friends’ houses, and couples taking an evening stroll. Nostalgia usually constricts my throat a bit, making me long for and miss things I do not often experience in my town.

The man stands a lanky six feet something, and with his silvery hair brushed back from his face, his khaki pants covering his thin legs, and his brown leather belt, I think he looks so noble, like he is on a mission to share a piece of the past with us. I usually see him with one plastic red and white Target bag hanging from the crook of his arm. Though his back is slightly stooped in shape, he stands tall and walks deliberately, proudly, but not arrogantly; happily.

Right as the sun is beginning to set is usually when I see him. It’s still rather warm, and the dusky cool has not begun to bring refreshment, but there he is, in long pants and a flannel t-shirt, looking just as pleased as ever. He reminds me of a tougher generation, not in an in your face when-I-was-a-kid way, but in a quiet, serious way. A way that lets me know that he has seen and experienced so much that I never have. A way that is a result of a life that has lead him to know that walking outside in warm clothing and warm weather is nothing to complain about; it’s something to be happy about.

I often wonder about this man. Where is he going? What did he get at Target? Is this part of some ritual trip that he does every week? Did he stop by Perkins to savor a delicious large, yummy muffin? And you know, strange as it may sound, I want to be his friend. I want to share in some of his wisdom, his contentment. For as I drive by him, though he passes out of sight rather quickly, I swear I can see a small smile play upon his lips. And I swear, that smile must hold some of the answers to some of life’s greatest mysteries. Here’s to you, beautiful man. Thank you for sharing some of your happiness with me.