A smile that hides the private pain of a stranger
February 11th 2008 23:55
My husband refers to the old men who walk the Coogee promenade day in and day out, immune to weather conditions, as my ‘boyfriends.’ At my age, wolf-whistles are few and far between and when the odd teenage fella happens to give me the once-over I have to stop myself from pointing out that I’m practically old enough to be his mother.
So when I go for my early morning runs, I look forward to the troupe of old guys in their too-big-brimmed floppy hats, leaning against the railings, doing their laps, to keep the old ticker going and the joints oiled. Without fail, they greet me enthusiastically, ‘Hello darlin’’ ‘Lookin’ good today,’ ‘Hey beautiful,’ and I run with wings on my feet. Once they were young and virile, and I’ll take an old man’s perv any day over the over-testosteroned indiscriminate hype of the youngsters. After all, a compliment is a compliment and I’m not fussy.
Over the past two years, as I’ve worked my way from brisk power walking into jogging and sometimes into what could pass for ‘running,’ the old guys have taken a very special interest in my progress. One particular old guy, Leon who is in his seventies, but has a lifetime of workouts behind him, and is muscled and strong in the way that some men can age, will, without fail, comment on my gait, my shoes or my lack of sun protection.
‘Looking strong today,’ he says, raising his hat.
Or ‘Don’t run the downhills… bad for the knees… must walk them.’
Or ‘Make sure you hydrate today, it’s stinking hot.’
Every now and then Leon and I have a longer chat. He’s told me his wife left him many years ago, that he raised his three daughters alone, that he walks for hours every day and swims just about every day too. Once he even gave me a list of jokes he’d printed off the internet and told me I could keep it.
Today I passed him again, and asked, ‘How are you Leon?’
There was too long a pause. He shrugged.
Now a shrug is not ‘I’m fine.’ A shrug is definitely something else.
So I stopped. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.
‘I guess,’ he said, his usual smiley countenance never faltering.
‘Sure?’ I asked, not that I had the time to stay and chat, but... I couldn't just walk away.
‘Well,' he smiled, ' I’ve just been reading a book by this woman with bone marrow cancer – you know, she describes the experience in great detail… that’s what I’ve got, you know bone marrow cancer.’
Leon… with bone marrow cancer.
‘Riddled with it,’ he smiled. ‘But I’m over the chemo. Oh no siree, no more chemo for me. It’s poison you know.’
‘But Leon,’ I protested, ‘you LOOK SO WELL… the picture of health.’ I could not reconcile this information with the perception I’ve always had of him as someone strong and fit.
He shrugged. ‘I feel horrible – nauseous, aches and pains…’
He then revealed that he’s had various forms of cancer on and off for the past fourteen years, beginning with prostate cancer.
I stood there dumbly.
‘Ok, I’m going to hug you now,’ I said, because really, I didn’t know what else to say and I did just want to hug him.
So I did. He accepted my gesture with the stoic grace that is clearly the essence of who he is.
He told me that when he swims in the sea, he doesn’t feel nauseous and when he pumps weights in the gym, his symptoms disappear too, but that they return about an hour later.
I left him sitting there on the beach. Leon with bone marrow cancer. His big smile following me.
I don’t know how much longer Leon has. But I do know two things: he’s inverted every stereotype I have about ‘sick’ people. He’s determined not to go gently into that good night, and is exercising and pumping iron til the dying of the light.
And it reminded me that as we pass the strangers in our daily lives, how quick we are to form impressions, and invent stories about who they are – ‘she’s stuck-up, she never greets me,’ ‘he’s a lazy bum, why is he never at work,’ ‘she’s drinking a beer at 10am, what a loser’… but we can never know the private pain they feel. Or the courage and generosity it may take to muster up a smile between bouts of debilitating nausea and pain.
Rage, Leon. Rage against the dying of your beautiful light.
www.joannefedler.com
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Comment by Cibbuano
20/20 Filmsight
Science News
Hunt Famous
Orble Post of the Day
Fat Cult
Techbreak
Comment by Sylvie
I often wonder why somone who could write such inspiring poetry drank himself to death.
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
I live in an area that’s full of all sorts of people, families, elderly, hippies, Goths, trendies... This is one of the reasons why I love where I live, everyone is different, and people can’t easily be boxed.
I feel sad and miffed when some members of my husband’s family come over and declare it to be a bad, dirty area.
Don’t they feel the freedom I feel? Why don't they take the chance to talk to different people? Don’t they see how friendly people are, their pain, their humour? No, they look at the aesthetics and form a judgement. It makes me sad.
I love meeting Leons of our world.
Tracy
Comment by Lilla
Enviro Warrior
An Extra Ordinary Life
Dream Herald
I hope Leon graces your path for a while yet.
Lilla ...
Comment by Michaelie
Flick Wit
Keep swimming, and keep smiling, Leon...
Great piece.
Michaelie
Comment by D. Armenta
The Florida Keys and Everglades
The Black Sheep Chronicles
What constitutes bad manners?
The male mystique
Debate Fan
What an eloquent piece--
Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
Leon sounds like an amazing soul - how great that your paths have crossed.
Comment by Damo
For the Sake of Argument
My Apologetics
It was a pleasure to read this.
Comment by Mrs M
Mum's Word
I think it was in the winter of 1996, Sydney experienced some vicious storms that kicked up the waves at the beaches.
Well I got up in the morning and headed down to Coogee beach to take photos. There was no sand, the water was coming right up to the end of the beach. It was a magnificent sight.
I walked around to the pools and there was one elderly man in his speedo's doing laps. The ocean waves were coming up into the pool but it didn't phase him.
It was freezing. I was wearing about 700 layers and the wind still cut right through me.
I managed to take one photo of him walking along with the beach waves coming right up.
I didn't talk to him, but I'd like to imagine what kind of life he lead.....and none of it was bad.
Rage Leon indeed.
Love & stuff
Mrs M