I love my job at the library. Where else could I meet such diverse customers on a daily basis? While I was showing a lady where the magazines were, I noticed an elderly gentleman that had nodded off. I made some noise as I passed him and continued on. When I was done with the lady, I returned to the man and said, "I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to sleep in the library." He smiled and said he was waiting for his wife and had just nodded off. "At 93, this happens often; the seats here are comfy, and the room is quiet." I agreed that it was a nap inducing spot and began to walk away. He called out to me and said, "Let me show you a letter I received the other day." I returned and took the letter. It was from the French consulate in D.C. inviting this gentleman to be honored by the country of France for his service in liberating them during WWII. He said he had entered the service near the beginning of WWII and had served throughout. A ball cap was on the chair next to him, notifying all that he was a WWII vet and pinned to this hat were two full bars. He said he had received the Purple Heart and another that I'm sad to say I forgot. He told me had married that "little girl I'm waiting for" before he shipped off. Said her father warned her not to marry him. "You'll be a widow before your 19." They have been married 73 years. She's 91. I told him the invitation was quite an honor and asked if he was attending. He said no, he had an eye doctor appointment with Dr. Susan Bressler, that day. "Can't you change it?" I asked. He said no. He has macular degeneration and he needs to get his monthly eye drops. His vision is more important than a commemorative gathering, and I really couldn't argue with that.
What a lovely five minute encounter. At the end of it, he looked me in the eyes and told me how nice it was to meet me. How glad it made him.
How nice it was to meet 'me'.
When was the last time someone said that to you that you truly felt like they meant it? And yes, it was really "I" that was truly glad to have met him.
