Crazy Tractor Man

You can hear him coming, two switchbacks below. He's well hidden by the trees but the powerful churning monotone of his tractor's motor gives him away. Within minutes of following his zig-zag trail with my ears as he climbs towards me, he finally appears. A beautifully restored machine of a half-century ago emerges with an American flag clinging behind. He glances up at me and waves, parade style, as his aged and wet eyes hint at his modest pride.

Crazy Tractor Man, how did you earn that kind and gentle smile? Just what is the secret that you carry, as you look me in the eye, and seem to know my thoughts?

That day you stopped and introduced yourself to me seven months ago is as if it was yesterday. "Kenneth", you offered, as you reached out your knarled hand. In five minutes time you shared with me photographs of your youth, of grandkids on your knee, and your tractors. Your beloved tractors.

As if you fully understood how precious every second was you glided through a synopsis of your life and seemlessy prodded into mine. While you talked wistfully of your tractors, one hand tucked the photos away and the other emerged with biscuits for my dog. Did you know that this was Justin's last walk? Did the benevolant Angel that resides in you know how to ease my pain - did it know that I had committed to euthanize him that very morning? You didn't let on that you sensed the tears that were just behind my eyes. The tears that men have learned to hold back, but flow freely when no one can witness.

Every day as I drive by his house, he is perched out front - waving his 'parade' wave and seeing into the souls of those who return his gaze. Every day I laugh out loud, alone in my car, as I wave back and pass him by - and remember - seven months ago now, when Crazy Tractor Man let me see his divinity.