The Old Man and the Dog

I saw the old man on my way to work again, the one I’ve seen for the past two years walking his just as old St. Bernard on Pleasant Street in Weymouth. I hadn’t seen him in a while and was worried that something had happened to him. Then I saw him twice in the past month only this time without his shaggy companion. It was only 7 am and I was already in tears. I didn’t want to go to work, I wanted to stop and ask him what happened and how he was doing. Maybe one day I will.

Later that day, as the sun worked its magic in my classroom and lured the students’ attention to the outdoors, I noticed a student staring out the window. I went up to him, asked what was going on. “Here I am in my youth, trapped.” I had to laugh because boy do I get that feeling. I had it in high school and I have it still. Always a feeling that I’m missing out on something, not FOMO but something akin. Existential angst, maybe? I assured the student that the bell would ring and he shall be released. This didn’t seem to cheer him up, he shrugged and went back to staring.

That night, sitting and watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel with Mom, I told her about what the student had said and asked for her 89-year-old perspective and wisdom and man oh man did she have that and more. I urge you to read this like an elder Boston Irish lady. “Trapped?? He feels…trapped? Well, guess what? We’re all trapped. You feel trapped as a teenager, trapped as a wife, trapped as a husband, trapped as a mother. That’s life! I mean, what else is there? Tell him he’s got plenty to be thankful for and to buckle up.” What I wouldn’t give to bring Mom to work and let her roam the halls with her oxygen tank in tote.

This morning, I’m thinking of all three of those moments and am still focused on how the old man is doing. Did his dog pass? Does he have a wife? Does he need anything? I fell in love with his face and the way he shuffled through cold mornings, his breath illuminating the air around him as his companion shuffled alongside. It was one of the purest things I’ve seen in a while. I wonder if he once felt trapped by something, unable to achieve what he had always dreamed of. If Mom had anything to say about it, she’d say yes. Although I did not see him walking for many days, I have seen him again, albeit alone. Trapped? Well, he’s still walking and that tells me he has more to do with this earthly imprisonment. I will tell my student these things on Monday. Perhaps it will help him find meaning in the embrace of a school and classroom.

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