Sometimes I feel like my soul is not made for this earth realm. Over empathetic for underdogs I’m sometimes chastised for my overwhelming drive to save hearts. My art studio is like a haven for lost souls who come to seek comfort of a warm smile, a listening ear, a new friend. People stop for a moment, drawn by the bright walls of art and stay forever. Today, a man in his late forties stopped in. He seemed a big odd, with his head phones, pager, and worn jeans with a decorative hunting knife attached by chain. I was wary as he snuck peaks at me thru his thick glasses, his hair tousled with a half-dollar-bald spot peeking through. He paced across the worn floor, searching the walls of paintings, but not really looking. We struck up a thin veiled conversation about artwork…that turned into his life story while he paced back and forth on the paint splattered floor. Held captive for an hour, “Wayne” proceeded to describe to me his upbringing by an old war veteran,. His step-father, Donald, left his first family to be with his Wayne’s mother. An abusive man, Donald Sr. beat him senseless since he was four…causing him to have seizures for the rest of his life. (He told me exactly how it happened in an old shower house at a camp ground). He spoke of how he did poorly in school. Too tired to do school work, due to working fields til 3am on school days. “You’d best not come home til those fields are tilled or else” . Explanations followed of his siblings leaving home to get away, but he stayed on to help his mother. His chain-smoking, ass-beating “father’ wouldn’t marry his mother, but gave them all relief when he keeled over at 66yrs. The troubled younger Wayne eventually moved to Kearney but kept to himself, embarrassed by his seizures. Unable to even go to the mall like others his age. Then, he states with passion, how a complete stranger changed his life by taking him in, caring enough to take him to the Mayo Clinic to have brain surgery. “No seizures since ’09 now!” He gushed excitedly. He’s on disability now ($750 a month) but self-reliant….and still likes to care for others if called to. When I asked him how he still had a grateful, kind heart about so much brutality, abuse, illness and struggles….he said “Well, I don’t know who my real father was…but I’m glad my step dad wasn’t my real father, so I don’t have his evil blood in my veins”. He chose to take the higher road. He smiled with his worn teeth. I saw burn marks up his arm from an accident he had as a kid driving his truck while seizing. He looked about the studio some more, exclaiming about the knick knacks while I sat stunned. Like a drama novel, he had laid out his own “life book on tape” before me. I had nothing but an ear to lend. I gave him my Wendy’s free frosty coupon, because it seemed appropriate at the time…and he strolled down out into the beautiful fall day with a “have a nice day”. My leaky eyes , he never noticed. Perspective. He perseveres on to another day, with more roadblocks than I. Good for you buddy! Wayne is the kind of person, you pass daily on the street without a second thought. My heart hurts and yet, rejoices in his tenacity of his spirit. So, I ask you…how was your week? Have you seen any “Wayne’s” today….
Posted on: Fri, 26 Sep 2014 19:15:55 +0000
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