Stop and Smell the Roses

I met a man today who told me his story. I was walking the two blocks from Chapman to the first non-permit street parking, where I park M-F, and I stopped to ask a question about roses. On this route of mine there is this beautiful little yellow house with rose bushes everywhere and whatever colorful flower the season permits. Every blade of grass is a crisp green surrounded by a white picket fence. It looks like something out of  Thomas Kincade painting or some place that Brenda would want to live.

Anyway, I stopped to ask the elderly home owner a few questions about his roses. This is what I learned:

He doesn’t know about the roses. His wife takes care of them. He joined the marines after high school. On the way down to boot camp the train stopped in Orange and he had an hour to walk around before the train continued down the tracks to San Diego. He thought to himself: “I like this little town.” After his commitment to the Marine Corps was up, he headed home to Michigan to attend Wesley College (Wesley University at the time). When he graduated he was ready to start the adult chapter of his life, but where? How about that little town called Orange he had spent an hour 10 years before? He spent the rest of his life in Orange. He married a woman, had a daughter and they lived together for years raising their child. Eventually she “wanted to live a different life” (I did not follow up). So he was single, in his 50s, hosting an office Christmas party, when he saw a beautiful 30 something friend of his secretary. “I kissed her that night, by the file cabinets between the As and the Cs.” She pulled back, things got awkward.  “She must of thought, ‘who is this old guy shmooching me.”’ A week later his secretary asked why he hadn’t called her friend. They had been together for 35 years and together they raised her 3 sons. Now they have 11 grandchildren and 4 great grand children. The four great grand children call him “Great Papa.”

I learned much more, but I wont share every detail. I enjoyed my ten minutes with this 85 year old retired insurance salesmen. He stood in the middle of a lawn, rake in hand, leaves surrounding his feet, and a warm smile on his face. His name is Bob Junstalls.

Every now and again you get the opportunity to meet someone. You get the opportunity to learn about the life of a stranger. Just like most people, I miss most of these opportunities by playing with my smart phone, reading, or even just ignoring the opportunity so it doesn’t slow down my day.  I’m going to try to embrace these possibilities more often in the future. Before I walk by, go to my phone, or open my book, I’ll ask myself “What would Morrie do? How about Tad, John, or Ginny?” I bet they would stop, and ask about the roses.