To the Dear Old Man at the Consulate

Nancy Triggiani

I don’t know your name but I wish I did. You shuffled in leaning on your three-pronged cane, escorted by a woman more than half your age. Taking small steps, you searched for a seat. The woman, spotting an empty chair next to mine, ordered you to sit. Dutifully and with effort, you slowly bent your knees, lowering your body into the chair. You looked at me. Why didn’t I ask your name? You asked the woman why you were there. Curtly, she replied she’d tell you later. You accepted it. Time went by. You again asked the reason for the visit but the retort was equally as short and uninformative. With dignity, you nodded. I sensed your kindness. Who was this woman I wondered, an aid just doing her job? A few more verbal exchanges between the two of you left me ill at ease. Why does she speak to you like this? Why didn’t I smile at you more? Why didn’t I ask your name? The clock continued to tick, as we all awaited our turn to meet with different consulate officials. You crossed your legs, accidently knocking over your cane. I reached for it but the woman grabbed it first. You looked at me saying, “thank you” for my attempt to heIp. Your sweetness, compassion, and dignity, evident. I wish I asked who you were. Thoughts raced through my mind. Is your wife long gone? How do you get by without her? What was your profession, and where are your children and family members? Are you sad now? A room full of people with ties to their ancestral homeland of Italy shifted in their seats, checked watches, and buried their noses in their phones, awaiting their turn. More time slowly ticked. I got up to stretch my legs. You looked at me; you smiled; there was kindness in your aged eyes. I smiled back. Another woman sat next to the one accompanying you and they began to chat. Your assistant declared you were 99 years old and would be 100 in March. You look amazing for your age! They conversed some more; I stretched my ears. Oh my God! This woman who spoke to you so abruptly, as though you couldn’t comprehend, although I know you could, is your daughter! Why is she treating you like this? Upon learning your age, a buzz spread throughout the room. Consulate officials and Italian citizens waiting for their appointment chattered about you with pride. Could you hear them as they spoke words of praise? I wish I knew your story. I wish you were treated more kindly. I wish I’d asked you your name. Above all, I wish people would realize that just because old eyes no longer see clearly and aged ears no longer hear, old minds, a treasure of life’s experiences, still think, and more than anything, old hearts still feel and love.