How Did We Arrive ~~~ Forty-five Minutes with Tony

Both born in the late 1950’s ~~ but immediately in our conversation, it became evident that this is where the similarities end.

Was it because of our recent teaching at church ~~ of ‘Generosity’ – was it because I have the gift of gab – or perhaps it is because I’m your ‘non-conventional’ kind of guy, often living in places and circumstances that most would never venture and likely would not even become a passing thought.

Turning onto Sunnyview, both his sign and panhandling location captured my attention. Immediately the thought crossed my mind ~~ how could two similar aged individuals end up in complete opposite life experiences? So, I turned the car around, drove up to him and asked, “Would you like a meal for a conversation?” With a smile, he said, “Yes”! But, “It’ll have to be something soft, I don’t have teeth”.

With Taco Bell in hand, I returned and offered the passenger seat for our dining room. Over the next forty-five minutes Tony and I chatted about his birth in Astoria, to short stints in South Dakota and Iowa, about a favorite vacation with his brother into the Florida Keys, and his greatest job as a nurses assistant. I wanted this just to be what it was, that is two men in their early 60’s having a conversation. Questions weren’t such as to be prying, rather truly concerned for who he was, and how he arrived. I never sensed that he was threatened by my questions, and he rather enjoyed having a time to talk and be listened to.

He was very vulnerable with both his drug problem, and his twelve year prison sentence and why he was there. He told of life with a seven hundred dollar a month Social Security, and living in his tent. He said that he daily lives with the regret for which he was imprisoned and how he works to overcome placing himself into that position ever again. He offered without even a question that which guides him most ~~ that is knowing that Christ loves him and died for his sins, for which he says, “Are many!”

We are less than a year apart in age, but millions of miles separate our life experience. Sometimes I wonder what more can we ... can I do?

Choices ~~~ perhaps it is nothing more than choices. I don’t know. I can’t figure this one out. What I know, what I believe ~~~ is that generosity flows from gratefulness. This week marks the 32^nd anniversary of my mothers death. And I’m grateful for her choice to work hard and demonstrate it in such way that I/we were never hungry ... never without clothes … never without a roof over our heads. Never! And yet, we could have been. And I’m grateful to a God who created and redeemed this soul. My hope is that generosity will never cease to flow from the gratefulness that has been part of my life … of my living.

Cart in Tow - Tony off to Refund his Cans

I asked if I may take a picture in order to pray for him. And pray, I will! Then offered him my two bags of cans for deposit, the very reason for why I was on Sunnyview in the first place. He loaded them onto his shopping cart and away he went. Might God truly work in his life. And might we invest some moments into the Tony’s of this world. And perhaps into boys and girls, that we can reinforce life-skills in such a way that their choices will be such, as to never experience the most difficult path of Tony. 

 

 

 

Her Smile

 As usual, it was a typical sunny day in Las Vegas, Nevada towards the end of February, 2009. As I reached for the front door, I looked back one last time. Her smile, the very first during this visit, will remain as my very last memory.

She was of direct French decent, not even five feet tall, yet tougher than anyone I ever knew. My memories of this lady are very dear and fond. Especially of those from the 1960’s & 70’s. But as well, throughout her last decade of life from 1999 to 2009. During these years I would often travel to Las Vegas (her home) to check in on her, accomplish some home repairs, and enjoy both our time and chats together.

Her name was Cecile Blanche Bonnette, born to Francois and Delia in southern New Hampshire in the year 1925. Both her stories from her childhood and her marriage (to Harold) present themselves with immense struggle and heartache. That said, she was a fighter, I knew her as such, and one of those who quote, “Would give you the shirt off their back” kind of people. Many knew her as Cissy or Sis. I called her ‘Nana’, for she was my maternal grandmother.

As a child in the 1960’s Christmas was often a celebration with presents under a tree almost bigger than the tree itself. I was too young to know then, that most of those gifts were from Santa herself, aka Nana. At times they were a result from winning at Santa Anita … yes, betting on the ponies. Yet, whether from the horses, the slots, or her own paycheck, she always made sure that our Christmas was a major event for my siblings and I. Even my first car, a Plymouth Valiant, oh baby

Nana (in dark) with sisters

… Green and slant six … was from her and my grandfather Gordon.

From the late 1970’s into the early 1990’s moves between Oregon, to Alaska and a return to Oregon provided only a handful of visits. But shortly after the death of her sister and roommate Rita, from 1999 until her own death, I determined to check in on her as often as possible.

~~ A 'slugger' ~~

One of my two fondest memories during those years was at breakfast time. Though I never asked her to do this, I determined that it was her way of remembering how she would do likewise for her love … my grandfather, Gordon Menveg. With the wonderful aroma of eggs, bacon and homemade hash browns in the air, she would ask me to sit at the table, having placed the morning paper (yes, when there actually was a paper) onto the table with the sports section laid to the top. For a breakfast appetizer she would cut a grapefruit in half and delicately slice each section so that every chuck could simply be lifted with a spoon.

My second memory were of the chats that we would so enjoy. At first she was reluctant to tell many of the stories, but with persistence, I was able to convince her, explaining that I would be the last person that she would divulge them to. They told of her childhood, my mothers childhood, of hard work and a difficult life. I had come to see why she was so very reluctant. And now I know that some of those stories, they will forever die with me.

I’m sadden to know that such hardship exist. Such sadness was reinforced this past week. While searching for the spelling of her middle name I came across her divorce document from one of her marriages dated January of 1952. On this document it states, “The marriage contract annulled, for the cause of extreme cruelty”. I knew from stories told, that the particular last episode in question was on Christmas eve of 1951. Even so, to read “extreme cruelty” --- my heart aches for all that she had to endure. I’m so sorry Nana, I’m so very, very sorry!

But here I was, the end of February 2009, positive that this was my last visit. So looking back after reaching for the front door knob, God gifting me with one last smile from a lady who is remembered not for her troubled life. No, she will forever hold the memory of one who was determined, who worked hard, and endured, and gave of herself in such a way, that Nana, I hope to always do likewise.

Forever grateful,

Your grandson, Rick