i hear ya

The groundskeeper at our school is a small bit of a man. His thick-rimmed glasses overtake his face and he always wears an old black cap with some sort of gold military marking on the front. He's in his seventies but walks sprightly and talks even sprightlier, exposing a mouthful of missing teeth.

He was clearing the snow in the morning yesterday when I got to the hill. After my obligatory bow and morning greeting, he accompanied me on my trek up the massive hill to school. I do hate to be disturbed during my morning routine. This is one of the ways I've changed. I don't enjoy seeing people I know in the morning till I get to school and would rather not speak until I'm sitting in my office chair. However, how could I be rude to this old man who had once mistaken me for a middle school student?

As I was breathing heavily due to the massive hill, this old man gave me a brief history lesson on the Corean war. Honestly, I hardly remember a thing he said. But I do remember the tone of his voice, the excitement, the pain, the eagerness to share. How desirous was he for conversation. Wanting someone to listen, even just hear. We all want to be heard, listened to. I'm sure he has a chestful of nuggets and anecdotes to share and I hope he'll be generous enough to share with me a few. Should he choose to do so, I'll lend my listening ear.

And I hope one day, many many years from now, I'll be lent a young, sympathetic ear of my own.