Perspective Rides A Bicycle With One Pedal
Today is my 21st wedding anniversary. And yes, I have already arranged for a special gift for my wife, thank you very much. No last-minute scrambling this year. (I may or may not have scrambled the previous 20, but that’s neither here nor there.) For more reasons than the aforementioned, this anniversary would be different. And it started the night before.
After dinner – a dinner that I marvelously prepared on the grill, I might add – I suggested we take a walk through the neighborhood (something I know she likes to do). So with the sun parting ways with the sky, the temperature at a brisk 89 degrees and the gnats busy regrouping for the next day’s assault, away we went. We’re dreamers, she and I. We like to walk through our neighborhood, admiring yards and renovations the likes of which we may never enjoy. But that’s okay, we have each other and that’s enough. (Not buying it? Didn’t work on her either.) Back to the story: She’s filling my ear with some sordid history of color palettes that a certain decorator is famous for using when we’re approached from behind by a man on a bicycle. A bicycle with one pedal and a flickering flashlight – all three struggling to hold their own.
He introduces himself as “Anthony”, a recent transplant from a neighboring state. Through our conversation, we learn that he and I are both the husband of one, father of four, and originally from the same city in said neighboring state. However, our differences are apparent. Anthony’s handlebars are burdened with plastic bags half-full of opened boxes of cereal, a few diapers, and a gallon carton of milk with enough left for 2 bowls of cereal, maybe. After a few minutes of chatting, he quietly asks if we have any milk or toilet paper that he might have to get his family through the next couple of days. We’re a mile or two from home and obviously not carrying anything he needs. We chatted about agencies in town that are equipped to help folks in transition. He stated he had an appointment the next morning with one of them and would soon be working for a coach at a neighborhood high school. He wasn’t looking for money, per se, as much as he was for support. He needed another brick in the bridge to get him from his present to his future. We were fortunate enough to be in a position to provide both.
We chatted a few more minutes and then went our separate ways. He’d given me his number as well as his address. I told him I’d meet up with him later with some items for his family. I brought him a few things that my family would likely never get to eating, a few toiletries, and some items for his kids. Nothing we’ll miss, but everything they’ll need. A transaction that left both of us the richer.
A day removed from the chance encounter…
Our “anniversary-eve walk” conversation never turned back to the things our neighbors enjoy or to things we hoped to enjoy one day. We shared a humbling, almost embarrassing moment of appreciation for the things we often take for granted. Anthony offered how hard it was to leave one town for another, find a job, and provide for six people. An experience my wife and I could relate to in years passed. And he was right. It’s not easy. And as he pedaled off, he looked back with the sweetest expression on his face and offered, “You will be blessed. You will surely be blessed.”
And he was right again.
Thank you, Anthony, for a memorable start to the 22nd year with my wife and for a perspective we pray we may never lose.
