Good Man

Kensington Market, February 2009. Passing by a candy store I saw (what I assume to be) a grandfather and grandchild.

A short story.

He was a Good Man. A Good Man that I’ll never forget. He was a kind of Man. He was full of love and life and never once, never once, did I see him frown. He was a Good Man indeed.

He was a generous Man, he was never too poor for the Poor or too rich for the Rich—

but we all know the Rich are the Poorest of all.

And he always smiled at the people that you wanted to turn away from. The kind of people that give you the shivers because their eyes are looking in the opposite direction, or their teeth look like bits of corn; the type of person that talks to themselves when they walk down the street, as if they were trying to convince themselves that they weren’t alone.

But he told me we’re always alone, even when we don’t know it. But That Was Okay, he promised me, because Being Alone Makes You Stronger, and we sure as hell knew we needed all the strength we could relish.

He was my first Love. The take-my-breath-away-because-of-his-smarts-and-insights-and-humour-and-wisdom kind of Love.

He was my Angel, he always told me to never worry because Angels were the only people that could keep you company, the only other Thing that could be with you so you weren’t alone. He told me that when the day comes when he was no longer “With Me,” he really still will be “With Me,” but I never understood what he meant. I just smiled politely and nodded politely and he’d give me a piece of candy.

He would take me on walks to the park, and give me bread to feed the ducks. He always liked ducks, he liked how they liked bread.

but really, who doesn’t?

He would help me count the stars at night. We never finished the job, mind you. But he promised me one day we will count every star in the sky together, even if it takes us five thousand years.

The highest we counted to was four hundred and twenty seven.

He would kiss my booboos better. He would find a way to make me laugh when I cried.

He had a really nice laugh, a really lovely laugh, the kind of laugh you knew he meant.

He always had a sparkle in his eye – even when the days were grey, the sun would shine behind the walls of Blue.

He always had a funny bounce in his step, like he was walking on hot coals. He always bounced.

He always kept a rock in his pocket. A nice, smooth, shiny, red rock. The kind of red that mixes well with Hearts and Kisses.

He always kissed my left cheek before my right, and patted my head like I was a Good Little Girl.

He always made people laugh. I never understood why, I didn’t find him very funny.

He was a Good Man.

Four hundred and twenty eight.

CB