Today’s post was a difficult choice for Josey. He does not like to feel he is preaching to his readers. He prefers his stories to be encouraging, entertaining and thoughtful. Yet, although this story is critical of the pace of our narrow-viewed society, I feel it will be seen for what it is – a reminder that we need to change. By doing so we will once again be able to look into the eyes of our fellow humans, sharing their sorrow, joy, need and abundance.

I encourage you to read this and all of Josey’s stories with an open heart and an open mind. Knowing there is no gimmick, no sales pitch, no ulterior motive, nothing is asked in return. Simply enjoy the story and go on to have a better day. – Heather

It is two a.m., and the distant land of our recent vacation is trying to find a place in my memories to call home.  That land is very familiar to me as we have vacationed there for twenty years. Each time we return the land stays the same but the faces change.  The days of sippy cups and car seats are gone.  Now their faces are soon to be adults searching for their path in life.

To me, life is series of confessions.  We realize the reality of the situation before us but it’s when we can confess to ourselves and accept the truth as ugly as it can be.  It has been a year and half since I retired, and I still sift through the ashes of that job and search for the truth as to why I retired 6 years before I was mandatory.  It would have been simple if I disliked my job, but I loved my job.  My boss was the best I ever had in thirty years, so I knew that was not the reason.  I had a multitude of positive reasons to retire early.  Everything from being with our boys more often, to starting our own peer support company.  I had what we call signs to encourage me to retire early, but maybe the signs were just a cover for the truth. I was a simple man who was tired. 

I feel I have been blessed most of my life to have crossed paths with the not-so-normal characters of the world we live in.  I have never understood the pure definition of normal, but clearly, I did not make the cut for being normal.  A few months ago, my new job required me to meet a man who I was told was “different”.  I took the definition of the man with a grain of salt and a belly full of curiosity.  As I drove down his driveway that twisted around several trees and over a few bumps that were nothing more than roots from the trees, I saw a metal building at the bottom of the hill.  The “different” man emerged from under the hood of an old car he was working on.  I shook his hand and I looked into his eyes.  He said, “my name is Tom”.  We stood for thirty minutes like two lost souls trying to find a common thread to tie us together and when the grass under our feet begged for us to move on it was clear Mr. Tom was not so different.  I could tell he had a heart of gold, but the world he lived in drove him to stay under the hood of an old car where he could relish and live in a society that took the time to care.  His hands were worn, and you could tell his body had seen better days, but his face was full of life.  He was the kind of man whose gears in his brain always seemed to be turning. 

Over the next few months Mr. Tom and I became friends. He took to our boys as though he needed the breath of new life in his lungs.  He complimented me on our boys and welcomed them to come visit him.  I realized Mr. Tom was not different, but just tired of the world he lived in.  He was tired of the world that never slows down for folks to think of one another.  He retired from his business and spends his days in a metal shop on his property working with his hands. 

I thought about Mr. Tom as we drove the four hours to the airport to start the first leg of our vacation.  I thought about myself, and how I am a younger version of Mr. Tom.  Though he never wore a uniform, he served society doing his part to help our country continue.  If you ask me, we are all serving our country, from the simplest job to the most complex.  Like Mr. Tom I spend my days alone, but I still feel I can make a difference in this world. I try and connect sentences and form a paragraph or two to offer complete strangers some hope they will see the world as I do.  As we made that drive into the early morning hours, my bride of twenty-six years asked if I’m ok and I say yes.  To many I am different like Mr. Tom, but to my wife who knows every secured and unsecured thread who I am, I’m not different. I just struggle and hide the pain. 

I traveled a good amount with my old job and to be honest I hated the travel.  To some it seemed like an awesome job, but to me the travel only revealed the very ugly side of our society.  Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere, everyone blaming the flight attendants, pilots, and people working behind the counter for the weather, the delays, and anything else that slowed them down.  People pushing and shoving and very seldom did people say thank you.  On occasion a stranger would walk up and say, “thank you for your service” and that gesture would help me get through the travel for that day. 

Occasionally God would throw me a bone (as I call it) during my travels and bless me with a permanent memory of the brightest side of our society.  I sat with a very old woman one flight, whose husband was a Marine.  She had no clue I was Marine, but I listened to her tell me all about him and how much she missed him.  I helped her off the plane where a wheelchair was waiting for her.  She held my hand and said, “thank you for helping me”.  I simply said, “I did not have a choice, a Marine has to take care of a fellow Marine’s wife”.  With tears in my eyes, I walked away.  On another flight I met a mother and her infant.  The infant had heart surgery and he and his mother were on their way back home.  I offered to hold the infant so his mother could sleep.  To this day I’m not sure which felt better, holding the infant or watching a worn-out mother rest. 

The good bones I received on my travels were limited.  Most times it was the rude pushing, limited eye contact, and a self-propelled world that I traveled through. 

As we walked into the airport my body was tight and there was a lump in my throat.  I had not been in an airport since I retired.  Clearly my memories of travel were dissociative memories, and my poor simple brain was struggling to capture those bones from previous flights.  I thought about the old lady in the wheelchair and the infant in my arms, but it was a struggle to step back in that turbo escalator of life.  I took every force of positive energy and handed it to everyone I encountered, and a few made eye contact and a few smiled.  The eye contact and smiles were enough to tell me there was still hope on this turbo escalator ride of life.  I crawled into my window seat and with my bride by my side and our boys bringing up the rear I slept.

As the airport was in the rear-view mirror we drove across the desert.  Our youngest son, who somehow was controlling the radio with this phone insisted he play a song for me.  As the song played (I Wish Grandpas Never Died) and the sun was setting, the words of the musician Riley Green tore through me.  The musician was not my typical classic/outlaw country but a new artist, or at least new to me.  As the tears rolled from behind my sunglasses our youngest said, “Did the song make you sad daddy?”  I said, “no son, what makes me sad is how the world can be at times.  Daddy has a lot on his mind today and I think I’d like to write about it.”  I will always remember that moment and his innocent face wondering what was so heavy on his daddy.

Our vacation was spent in a very remote location and some days we never saw another human being.  I would get up every day and watch the sun come up over the desert mountains.  In the far distance I could see trees but nothing like the ones back home in the swamp.  As my family slept my mind would wonder back to that song played by our youngest son.  I wondered what would cause a 14-year-old boy to play a song like that for his dad.  Did the boy know his dad struggles with the world he lives in?  Does the boy know his dad wishes people would take the time to make a difference in the world instead of in their own life?

Several years ago, at the break of Christmas morning I sat the boys down before we opened presents and I said, “Forget anything I have said in the past but listen to what I am saying now.  Use these words to guide your life.  Before you open your piehole (mouth) ask yourself, are you taking hope or giving hope with your words.”  Our boys sat there looking at me, but it did seem to register.  One of the main goals of someone trying to support another in a time of crisis is to give them hope.  At times giving hope can be hard, especially to someone who life has stripped hope from, and they are left to stand there with torn threads hanging from their soul.  We live in a world where hope can come from a very simple gesture of kindness.  In the modest house that our boys Catholic school converted into a pre-K four school, a sign is displayed.  The sign says, “Take time to be kind”. 

A very simple attempt to instill in our youth a guide to how we should live our life.  Though I doubt to a child in pre-K four, the idea of telling someone to take time to be kind is needed, but clearly that sign is needed in the world full of us adults.  We are constantly reminded of the speed limit, to wear a mask, and the rules that govern our society, but no one seems to remind us we need to be kind.  We seem to get lost in our focus to survive and excel but we fail to see that at times we are our own worst enemy.  Like a fire that spreads, we only fuel this fire by our lack of kindness to each other.   It’s not about me, its about us and if we think more of our neighbor, the gift of life is always easier if we have help from each other. 

The sun is up and that’s my sign to place my vacation memories in a spot that will ease my pain on the days the world wears on me.  To many, I am different just like Mr. Tom but there are plenty more of us out there that struggle with what the world has become.  My bride once told me, “You are not that different, but the way you hide how much you care about the world gives the appearance you are different.”  A few blogs ago we reached over 8000 people.  For the life of me I’m not sure why 8000 people would care what I have to say.  I’m just a simple retired guy who misses helping people, and gets frustrated with the fast-paced world we live in.  Aunt Kathy and a few others have told me I have a message and it needs to get out there.   I have no idea what that message is, but it seems to come to me at the most inappropriate times. My soul does not feel relief until my fingers hit the keys.  At the end of this there is nothing to buy. No button to donate here so why write to complete strangers.  Why expose the threads that weave me together and give strangers a window to my soul?

My answer is simple, or it’s the only answer that comes to me now.  It’s to give someone hope.  To give hope to the Mr. Tom’s of the world.  To give hope or throw a bone to the person reading this as they start their day.  To give hope that people still care, and the world is not consumed with self-centered, fast-tracked people on that turbo escalator ride of life.  So, what is the message?  Take time to be kind!  I get it. It seems strange to hear those words from a die-hard country boy, but just maybe the words are not getting heard from the modest pre-k four schoolhouse.  Maybe the words are not getting heard from the thumping of the bible and preaching from the pulpit.  I’m simply chicken pecking from my keys a message that I wish people would hear. 

I’m as guilty as the next person for getting caught up on that escalator that seems to pull us every direction but the direction that matters.  As our youngest son played that song and tears rolled from my eyes, I too wish some things about life would change. The one thing we can easily change is just to take time to be kind.  Would it hurt if down the road a few feet from the posted speed limit, a sign said, “Take Time to Be Kind”? 

For us that have worn a uniform of some form or fashion it may be easier to see the beauty of life from that escalator.  Maybe I can live in the moment because I have seen how fast that moment can disappear.  Some feel bad for us that have seen pure evil, but if you ask me, I feel blessed.  Most days I’m standing in high cotton because I’m upright and walking.  The struggle to me is I wish more people could appreciate the beauty of life. I saw Mr. Tom the other day and his face was full of life as he told our oldest son about how he restored this old station wagon.  When I asked if he would be around this weekend he replied, “I went and saw my son a few days ago and we sat in traffic. I lived out there in that world.  I think I will be here for a few months now.”   If I crossed Mr. Tom’s path to be that bone, he needed then I will do my best to plant some hope back in his heart.  If the message is taking time to be kind, then I also hope it plants hope in your heart.  I hope you will slow down and realize this is our country, and it does not matter what race, what political affiliation, what religion, what financial status, or how big of a hurry you are in, we all end up in the same place.  Like the drive we made into the desert, it was much more enjoyable with good music, a nice road, and a family working together.  We are all on a drive on this escalator called life.  It is our choice if we hit the turbo button and race into being a self-centered society or sit back enjoy the sunrise and pass on hope to all those who we meet as we travel to what really matters. -WLV-