by Jane Corona

Created on: October 27, 2010

As I crunch along the gravel path in the RV park, I am lost in thought.  Needing to get some quarters from the office in order to do some laundry, I take a deep breath and notice what a beautiful warm day it is.  I notice the campers living their lives, reading while relaxing in a lawn chair, carrying trash to the dumpster and one very large man, walking himself around the side bars of a bright orange ATV,  like a toddler needing stability around the coffee table.  Wearing cut off bleach stained sweatpants and a gray shirt, sweat stained and stretched out around the neck, I wonder if he needs help.  I slow my pace as he finally makes it to the drivers' side seat.

I hear  the rumble of an ATV and wonder about him, approaching the office. The poor guy really needs to diet.  He is killing himself.  How would he ride in an airplane.  Or sit on a barstool?  Where would he buy his clothes?  I silently thank God that I am not that obese.  What about lapband surgery?  I just wonder why people let themselves get THAT way.  

  He pulls up to the mailbox and says "Hi Big Ed!" Taking two more steps, I realize I am wearing my "Big Ed's Pizza" shirt and laugh.  "How are you?" in the deepest voice I can muster.  He laughs and says, "Doing great, but the office is closed."  I tell him I was going to do the laundry and needed change.  He very generously invites me into his Ranger ATV to go to his place for some quarters. I jump in without a thought.

We make our way in his 4 wheeler to his fifth wheel home  and he begins to talk.  "Wow, what if I was a pervert?"  I reply, "Then I would hit you over the head!"  He laughs and throws out his hand, "Jim, at your service."  "Jane, or Big Ed, whatever you want."

As he slowly makes his way to a cooler resting outside, with the aid of walking sticks, he  plops down and looks at me and says, "I haven't always been this way.  I was diagnosed at 47 with prostate cancer.  That Agent Orange in Nam was everywhere.   The cancer spread to my testicles and I lost them.  Then I had to take estrogen for the cancer which made it necessary for a mastectomy.  I got so down I thought about suicide. Can you believe that a parakeet saved my live?  I had to take care of him and couldn't do it."

I listen and nod, scolding myself for instantly judging him.  It sinks in  The devastation, depression, loneliness and isolation.  I say "That is totally understandable.  I can't imagine."   He comments that his view of life totally changed at that point.  "I don't care about money or things, just meeting nice new people and enjoying each day".  He counts out the quarters in my hand and says, "You and your husband want to go for a ride in my mean machine?" 

I smile and he struggles up to his feet and off we go on a day of 4 wheeling with a hero.

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