Personal Narrative: Shifting Perspectives

One is able to learn a great deal from working inside an old, cramped ice cream shop. Although it is a crowded, stressful place of work, my time working at Peaceful Meadows Homemade Ice Cream has supplied me with substantial life lessons of which I will surely take to my grave with me from none other but yes, the customers I am fortunate enough to experience on a daily basis. Of course there are the rude ones, the unfriendly ones, the enemies; but the ones that I’ve really cherished the opportunity to meet have been the few kind, compassionate, and even damaged souls that have stepped through those tacky, hot pink doors. Whether it be a lonely, passionate, elderly man or simply someone just looking for a friend to talk to, every one has had a lesson to teach me, whether it was voluntary or not. These ordinary people have ultimately changed my perspective on life and have altered the way I view and value the smaller things that come along with it.

            One man, an old fellow who happens to be a former Marine, hobbles into the store every day, aided by his walker, at about twelve o’clock to receive his mid-day sweet tooth satisfaction. He orders his usual strawberry frappe and while I proceed to fill his order we discuss the small talk that would normally occur between two such people.

“How have you been?”

“Eh, the usual.”

            He then carries on to explain to me how lonely he becomes at times. I sensed an escalation of emotion in his tone, as he began explaining his daughter’s weekly custom of bringing over her dog to the man’s house to stay with him for a few days at a time. He expressed his frustration at the fact that this week she had failed to fulfill her duties and to inform the man that the dog would not be delivered.

“You know, it’s a pretty lonely life and I just don’t think they understand that”

            This subtle declaration of his emotions, yet a powerful placement of all his worries and burdens right out onto the sticky, cramped, countertop surface that occupied the space between us, gave me that strange, indescribable feeling of sympathy I never knew I could possess for someone I had barely known. I turned, pausing from filling the cup with strawberry ice cream and gazed up at him. His face pale and blank, yet I could feel the pain he experienced inside by just looking into his dark chocolate brown eyes. As he peered back at me, there was silence. A moment for his reflection, and also a moment for my compassion and understanding. Feeling the pressing need to respond, I blurted out an unrehearsed “I’m so sorry”. The man shrugged, looking away almost ashamed, and as I turned backwards to the blender I began to really process the conversation just at hand. Over the loud buzz of the pulverizing blade, I caught myself pondering what the man had said, weighing it against my own personal family situation and thinking deeply about the way I was currently treating my parents and how I wanted to be treated when I reached that age. The man’s simple, yet ever-so-meaningful exclamation made me seriously reconsider the way I was living my life and the time I was spending with the ones I loved. Was I putting forth enough effort to show them how much I care?

            To this day the man saunters in every day, without fail, for a strawberry frappe and a short chat with whoever may be behind the counter. This man, little does he know, has changed my overall outlook on life and the way I believe I should be living it. He has changed the way I view my family and how they should be treated. He has showed me that when I am older, I want to receive what I have given to others in the past. This man has taught me a great deal of significant life lessons and for that I admire him; yet, I never even learned his first name.