Rediscovering Humanity: Breakfast with Fred

I have so many blog posts in me from my trip to Canada and things I’ve done since being home, but the world feels heavy right now and I haven’t felt much like writing.  Maybe now is a good time to relay one of the many encounters I have while out on the road that restores my faith in humanity.

Breakfast with Fred in Pennsylvania

My feet touched down on either side of my motorcycle as I killed the engine and took in the immediate flood of silence.  I was dismounting my bike when I looked up and noticed an older man, struggling against the weight of the diner door.  Cane in one hand, and balance compromised by the door recoil, he struggled to stay upright.  I quickly closed the half dozen steps between my bike and the door in time to stop the weight of the metal and glass from knocking him over.  He mumbled something and continued inside. I finished taking off my gear and went inside just as the waitress was seating him at a table.

Your usual coffee, Fred?

Sure.

I looked around the mostly empty diner and saw only a man and woman seated a few tables away having breakfast together.  As the waitress settled Fred, it became obvious that he would be dining alone.  I got the feeling that it was something he did often.

Fred, would you mind some breakfast company?

He took in the sight of my riding jacket and helmet hair, then flatly said “Sure” without a trace of emotion on his face or in his tone.

Hmm, Fred’s gonna be a tough dining companion.

Tina, the waitress, placed a mug of coffee with a straw in it in front of Fred and asked him what he wanted to eat.

Apple pie and milk.

I smiled.  Pie for breakfast? I like your style.

I detected a bit of defiance in his voice when he said “I have diabetes.”

Well, sounds to me like you’ve made peace with it.  

At that, he let the slightest smirk flash across his face as I ordered an egg sandwich.  After Tina departed, we sat in silence for a solid 2 or 3 minutes in an apparent staring contest.

I finally stuck my hand across the table and introduced myself.  After a while, we established that he was 87 years old, a local farmer with kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids in the area, and that I was heading back home after riding my motorcycle to Canada. 

All by your yourself?!

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at hearing that line for the millionth time.

Yes, Sir.  All by myself. 

By this time, Tina returned with our meals.  I looked at the bowl of milk with a slice of apple pie swimming in the middle of it in front of Fred.  It reminded me of how my grandfather used to eat French bread – broken into a bowl of milk.

I’m not much to look at while I’m eating.  I have Parkinson’s and it’s messy.

I pulled several napkins out of the dispenser and placed them next to my plate.

You haven’t seen ME eat yet.

We settled into our meals as he struggled with bites and conversation.  He was a Marine, two tours in Vietnam, before coming home to Pennsylvania and working numerous different jobs before settling into farming.  Tears welled up in his eyes when he told me that, eight years ago, he lost his wife of 60 years.  They married in their teens, but somehow managed to stick it out over the decades.

I’ve lived a good life.  I don’t know why I’m still here.  I’ve out lived everybody, there’s no one left to really talk to.

Well, you’re talking to me, aren’t you?  I didn’t have to eat breakfast alone because you were here.

He smiled and asked me if I had ever been married.

Yes, once, early in my military life.  To a Marine.  Do you see what went wrong?

He chuckled.

Marine?  Yes, I see the problem.

He was fascinated that I had retired from the military.

What rank did you make it to? 

Lieutenant Colonel.

His eyes got big and he let out a long breath.

Well, I’ll be!  Aren’t you an unusual young lady?!

Tina came back to see if we needed anything else, and we both paused.  By now, we had finished our meals, but it felt like we still had more to share, so I ordered a slice of pie of my own.

We talked about our military experiences – the good, the bad, and the ugly.  After a while, his tremors got more pronounced and he announced that he needed to go home and take his medicine.  He reached for the bills when Tina came back, which I promptly swiped away from him and said “No, Sir.”   He leveled a stern look my way and said he wouldn’t allow it.

I looked him in the eyes.

Did you make it to higher than Lieutenant Colonel in the Marines?

No, Ma’am, I did not.

Well then, I’m pulling rank on you, Marine.

His scowl softened as he reached for my hand to shake it, but ended up holding on to it to steady himself as he got up to leave.  As we stood there facing each other, hands gripped in a handshake, there was an exchange of respect, of knowing, and of empathy.

I knew better than to try walking him out, so I stood and watched as he slowly shuffled his way to the door.  Tina asked him what he was gonna do for the rest of the day.

Without missing a beat or looking back, he said in a deadpan delivery “I’m going home to get my motorcycle helmet,” then walked out into the sunlit parking lot.

I looked around the now empty diner and approached the counter to pay our bills.  Tina shook her head no.

The couple that had been dining a few tables down had paid both our tickets on their way out.

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Encounters like this are the gold nuggets of road life and remind me that there are good people in the world, we just need to slow down long enough to share a moment to discover them.