The holidays were rapidly approaching, and at the time, I worked as seasonal help at the Dedham Costco. The job was physical, with simple responsibilities: keep products on the shelves. The day was spent restocking pallets of bottled water, pet food, paper towels, and other durable goods. Occasionally, I'd run into familiar faces. One day, unexpectedly, I received words of encouragement from an unlikely source.
I knew Ron Elmos from events participated in at our local elementary school. He's a tall guy, a local firefighter, and a natural-born leader; the one thing shared in common though is that each has all sons. Over the years, we'd see each other at school activities and kids' sporting events. One summer, my wife and I hosted a party for our two August-born sons, inviting their friends and families to attend. I remember feeling proud of the beautiful home we created that was on display. As the day wound down, and Moms busied themselves in the front yard with kids begging for a final turn in the rented inflatable bounce house, I offered cigars to several fathers. Ron and I were in the backyard, standing on the lower-tiered redwood deck away from the kids, and enjoyed the guilty pleasure.
Seeing him at Costco, I felt a twinge of embarrassment. Besides the obvious change in my work circumstances, I'm sure he had heard the stories that circulated about the breakup of my marriage and the course of events that followed.
I imagined from the outside, without the benefit of context, it played out exactly as appeared: A 46-year-old man breaks up his family and leaves his wife of 20 years for a younger, more attractive prospect...an obvious case of midlife crisis.
Unlike the actions of the other Downey Elementary parents, many who only knew me as Josh-Noah-Levi or John's Dad, and would either avoid me or display a forced smile before quickly moving on, Ron, instead, approached me. He likely sensed my discomfort, as I found it difficult to maintain his eye contact: A telltale sign of my guilt, knowing that what I imagined others believed was at least partially true.
He forced my attention, though, with an extended hand, and firmly gripped mine within his. Then, in a voice I can only describe as one that men willingly follow, he simply stated, "We are survivors."
The short, direct, and inclusive statement he delivered affected me. Ron's words felt redemptive and strengthened my resolve.
YOU ARE READING
NAVEL GAZING: excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue
Non-Fiction-A Lie I decided to focus on family, choosing to believe and have faith that everything else would fall into place. I wasn't comfortable-or good-at lying to her. So, when Samantha surprised me one day by swallowing her pride and asking directly if a...
