I can’t say that I feel better today than any other day. I can’t say that I am happy or sad or angered.
It's as if I am sitting in a park watching life pass, and all I can do is feed the pigeons...they don't mind how i feel, they just eat and coo away at each other not knowing or caring about me. I watch over them and protect them for the time being. An old man is sitting on the park bench directly in front of me. We don’t speak. I just smile and nod... he returns my smile with one of his.
More birds fly down to feed on my hand full of bird seeds. I look back at the old man, sitting there with his shirt neatly tucked in and his old race track cap hung low on his brow. In his shirt pocket there is an eye glass case, the type given to you at the eye doctor, apparently there to remind him that he has glasses to help him if need be. His tweed jacket is too warm for this time of year, but I remind myself that I am young and he has seen many of these days long before me. I smile again...
His shoes are not medically prescribed, but look very comfortable. Black with laces too long for them tied in several knots. Rabbit ears are his loops. His wrist watch is nothing special, it looks plain but old. It tells time...nothing more. The leather band looks new, as if he carefully attached it himself.
I catch myself looking too long and continue to feed the pigeons. I can’t help in seeing his hands, folded in front of him on his lap; time worn hands of a man that has not spent his life counting money, but working for it. Big hands, similar to my own...
He slowly gets up ... one motion at a time...slowly turning his body into position. I make a slight move to help, but his hand raises and stops me before I start.
On his feet, he looks strong and able... but he knows it will take him some time before he gets home.
He fixes his cap, and takes a deep breath. His journey home isn’t timed, but eventful. He starts off...I keep my eyes down on the pigeons. As he walks he looks around as if everything he sees he is looking at for the every first time.
He turns and said, "Don’t forget the little pigeons."
I respond, “I won't Dad!"
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