10 March 2012
The old man rolled his tobacco, enjoyed his smoke and sat on the same bench in front of the circa 1940s marina every Saturday morning. The lines in his face etched years of time as his weather beaten skin told its own story. His fingers were gnarled, and his white hair long, touching his scruffy beard in spots. His open denim shirt revealed a darkened tan, a man of the sun, perhaps a fisherman, a net maker, or a builder of boats; but honestly, to me, he looked a king, a man of royalty; his age served him well.
I often saw him there on his bench as I slowly jogged through the village, always wanting to stop and ask him questions. He looked like a human relic fill with wisdom, yet robust, like people living near the ocean look. I sensed he might have something to tell me; maybe something important. At the very least he could tell me about this beautiful island I now lived on.
As another Saturday rolled around it was settled; today I would stop and scratch this curious itch. Today I would find out why this old fellow had such a grip on me. As I jogged past the curve leading up to the riverfront marina, looking toward the moss draped oaks that canopied the store, I noticed he wasn't there. Maybe he was inside, just not arrived yet or something. I stopped, asking the storekeeper, "Where is the old man who always sits out front?" "He left us this week" she stated in a saddened tone. It didn't quite hit me. "Excuse me?" Now in a distinctly clear voice, "He passed on son!"
I was deeply moved, almost depressed as I left the store in shock mumbling, "I am so sorry!" Why did I sense such loss over someone I never even knew? Why did I feel this gut-aching regret? What had I missed not knowing this regal old man of the sea? I'll never know, but he taught me one of life's great lessons - the pain of regret is steeped in finality. Make decisions in life that leave the least room for regret.
Lesson From A Stranger • Opuss № I