Jon

When I was young, my parents owned a small deli in our tiny little town. Every day, Jon would come in. I was probably 4 or 5 when I made my first memory of Jon, but apparently he had come in to my parents deli every day since before I was born.

Everyday, he would buy a pack of Camels. Which I always thought was fitting since he always had a grizzly, blond, 5 o'clock shadow and kind of looked like what I imagined a camel would look like. His specialties were talking about the weather, wearing a different colored (but same) flannel shirt every day, making Donald Duck noises and telling me inappropriate life truths for someone of my age. My mom was always nice to him, and would always give him a free cup of coffee for his 3 hours of out-loud pondering (while he chain smoked at least a quarter of his pack-- everyone smoked inside back then, it was the thing to do), because I think we assumed that he didn't have anyone else. Any time that we tried to ask him about his children, he would always change the subject or just brush us off with something like, "Well, they're much older than this little one here. Enjoy her while you can! They grow up, and then they forgetcha."

I remember that, once, I asked him why he worked, because in my mind, my parents didn't work. This was just their life. They were born into the making of sandwiches during lunchtime and providing candy to kids on their way home. That was just science. As usual, when I asked a question that maybe struck Jon in an unexpected way, he paused in his blowing of smoke into the general cloud that surrounded him and stared hard at me like I had just materialized in front of him.

"That's just what you do." He said.
"Is it fun? Do you get to be with your friends?"
He laughed. "After awhile, even if they're not your friends, they're your friends."
I stayed quiet because I sensed I was about to be exposed to an inappropriate truth, which in my mind were just "adult secrets".
"Some people work because they want things. But don't you ever fall into that trap. You don't actually need things. Most people need very few things. You should stay away from people who try to tell you that you need a lot to be happy. They're just trying to make themselves feel better because things are the only things that make them happy."
"But I want things." (This was true-- I really wanted that Little Artist Set at the craft store that my mom told me repeatedly was too expensive.)
"Try giving some of the things you have to someone else." And then he made a Donald Duck noise and went back to making a cumulonimbus (or at least a very heavy fog) around himself.

I did end up getting that Little Artist set that year. I used it once but quickly lost interest. For my birthday, I got a very similar "art for kids" set. I told my mom to donate it to someone else since I already had one.

Now, every Christmas season, I think about Jon. He's probably long gone by now, but I still think about how simple his life was, and how much perspective he brought to my life-- even today.