On the way I often pass the happy, elderly, crossing guard at the school. He wobbles as he walks across the street. He wears the same jumpsuit every day. He waits patiently in his car when he doesn't need to help people across the street. He always wears a hat. He has glasses. He is always smiling. I don't know his name. And I may never know his name.
As I drove past him the other day, I thought of this letter I recently read in a talk Sister Hinckley gave on mothering. She had taken it from a letter written to Ann Landers.
Here is the letter. It describes perfectly what I feel every day when I pass that man.
"Dear Older American,
"I want you to know how much you have improved the quality of my life. Today I was driving down the street. You were sauntering uptown, your white hair shining in the sun, a smile on your face. You waved when I went by, though you had no idea who I was.
"On my first job as a cashier, I was nervous and scared. The line was long and everyone was impatient. You let the others go first because you didn't mind waiting. When your turn came you said, 'Take your time. My, but you have pretty eyes.' I could have kissed you.
"You say, 'Have a nice day,' in the elevator and talk about the weather. I can tell by your gnarled hands that you've done a lot of hard work and I admire that.
"You have an aura of calmness that so many of my generation will never know in their mad rush for money and status.
"Thanks, Older Americans, for being there."
This was incredibly sweet April. I'll have you know that i have always admired your kindness towards your elderly friends. You have so many of them. I just love you.
ReplyDelete