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Help for the Helper
At age eighteen, glue gunI left my home in Brooklyn, New York, and went off to study history at Leeds University in Yorkshire, England.skate board It was an exciting but stressful time in my life, for while trying to adjust to the novelty of unfamiliar surroundings, I was still learning to cope with Brass fittingsthe all-too-familiar pain of my father's recent death—an event with which I had not yet come to terms1. While at the market one day, stainless steel pipetrying to decide which bunch of flowers would best brighten up my comfortable but colorless student digs2, Dining tableI spied an elderly gentleman having difficulty holding onto his walking stick and his bag of apples. I rushed over and relieved him of the apples,international calling giving him time to regain his balance.As we walked, Mr. Burns (whom I always addressed as such and never by his first name) leaned heavily on his stick, a stout, gnarled affair that resembled my notion of a biblical staff 7. Bicycle helmetWhen we arrived at his house, I helped him set his parcels on the table and insisted on lending a hand with the preparations for his "tea"-that is, his meal. I interpreted his weak protest as gratitude for the assistance. After making his tea, Coffee tableI asked if it would be all right if I came back and visited with him again. I thought I'd look in on him9 from time to time, to see if he needed anything. hose fittingsWith a wink and a smile he replied, "I've never been one to turn down an offer from a good-hearted lass.? I came back the next day, at about the same time, so I could help out once more with his evening meal. The great walking stick was a silent reminder of his infirmity10, bag making machineryand, though he never asked for help, he didn't protest when it was given. That very evening we had our first "heart to heart." Mr. Burns asked about my studies,barcode labels my plans, and, mostly, about my family. I told him that my father had recently died, but I didn't offer much else about the relationship I'd had with him. In response, he gestured toward the two framed photographs on the end table next to his chair. They were pictures of two different women, one notably older than the other. But the resemblance between the two was striking. I visited with Mr. Burns twice a week, always on the same days and at the same time. Whenever I came, he was seated in his chair, custom signshis walking stick propped up against the wall. Mr. Burns owned a small black-and-white television set, but he evidently preferred his books and photograph records for entertainment. lv shoesHe always seemed especially glad to see me. Although I told myself I was delighted to be useful, I was happier still True religion jeansto have met someone to whom I could reveal those thoughts and feelings that, until then, I'd hardly acknowledged to myself. Although Mr. Burns talked, he allowed me the lion's share.13 Mostly I recall him listening. Ed hardy shirtsBut how he listened! It wasn't just that he was attentive to what I said. It was as if he were reading me, absorbing all the information I provided, and adding details from his own experience and imagination to create a truer understanding of my words. "That second time you came 'round, luv, it was then I saw how unhappy you were. Feeling lonely and sad about your dad and all. Lineage 2 adenaI thought, well, the lass could use a bit of an old shoulder to lean on. But I knew you were telling yourself you were visiting me for my sake and not your own. Didn't think you'd come back if you knew I was fit. And I knew you were in sore need of someone to talk to. Someone older, older than your dad, even. And someone who knew how to listen." |
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