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"We do not exist for ourselves. Accept life as a great gift, a great good, not because of what it gives us, but of what it enables us to give others." ~Thomas Merton


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"Seymour Shuffles"
by Michele Starkey

I am distracted by the noise in the eye clinic, impatiently waiting for my name to be called and I barely notice the door as it opens and Seymour silently shuffles in. The place is crowded today, everyone in a hurry, everyone except Seymour. The girls behind the counter barely notice him, they're too busy waiting on everyone else. I notice him. I notice his neatly pressed pants, his hat skewed slightly atop his white-haired head. I notice his shoes are polished with a shine so bright that I can hardly imagine anyone spending that much time polishing their shoes anymore. Oh, you can tell they are really old leather shoes, the kind of good leather shoes that wear-out evenly and absorb the shoe polish nicely. They don't make shoes like that anymore.

Seymour shuffles towards the counter, never interrupting the girls. He seems like a patient old man; ready to wait however long it takes to get noticed by them. He shifts his weight slightly, shuffling his feet as if perhaps his hip is giving him some trouble. And, still he waits. Finally, someone spots him, "Can I help you, Sir?" He approaches the counter and hands over his prescription. "Need to pick up my glasses," is all he says. The young lady looks over the prescription and then at him again, "Medicare?" Seymour nods his head. "Medicare, you pay up front and the doctor mails it in and you'll get your money mailed back to you from Medicare." He nods, opens his wallet and thumbs through the money as if absentmindedly counting it, "How much?" he asks. She glances at the prescription again and then walks around the corner to speak with the manager. The manager glances at his paper and then yells out, "Hi Seymour." He looks in her direction and nods his head, tipping his hat ever so slightly more forward on his head. The young lady makes her way back to him and states, "It's forty dollars today." He rifles through his wallet again and then places the money on the counter.

I cannot help but speak to him as he passes by me, shuffling one foot in front of the other. "Darn Medicare," is all I could say. He stops and looks at me, then motions to the chair next to me. "Anyone there?" "No" I say and Seymour sits in the seat next to mine. "I used to be a Superintendent for the State, you know, we had good State benefits. But now, I have to use the Medicare first. It complicates things." He smiles as if to himself, remembering how it used to be. Maybe he's remembering how it felt to be working at his job, to be self-sufficient and not dependent upon Medicare. "It stinks," I say, "My parents struggle with Medicare all of the time and they're in their eighties now." I watch him, waiting to get a hint at his own age, but he says nothing as he slowly shakes his head. "My dad is a World War II veteran. How about you?" Seymour smiles at me, "I'm a vet. Fought the good fight in the big War." Smiles again as if reminiscing with himself. I interrupt his thoughts, "My father was a Navy man. How about you?" Seymour smiles again, "Nope, I was an Army gunner," he says with a laugh, "a long time ago."

Then, Seymour looks around the eye clinic and notices that the crowds have thinned and it is just he and I sitting there as the receptionist calls my name, "Michele, the doctor will see you now." "That's me," I stand, "It was nice talking to you," I smile at him and then add, "Seymour." He smiles back and then asks, "How did you know my name?" I watch him slowly rise to his feet and search my face as I speak, "I noticed you when you came in and then I heard the manager say hello to you by name."

Seymour smiles and slowly shuffles towards the door, turning one last time, "You're a very observant young lady. A lot of people don't listen to the little things like that - little things like someone's name. It makes a big difference in life, you know. Makes a person feel important. Have a nice day, Michele."

I watch as Seymour walks outside, slowly making his way down the sidewalk - just a slow-moving, old man who's living in a fast-paced world. A world that doesn't take the time to polish old leather shoes or listen for someone's name. A world that got itself so busy making a living that we forgot what makes a good life. It took a little old man with shiny shoes, pressed pants and a lot of patience to remind me that kindness and words go along way. And, it means a lot to remember someone's name, too.



Michele Starkey copyright 2003 Thankful4Life@aol.com

Michele Starkey is an Apprentice in the Jerry Jenkins' Christian Writer's Guild. Michele suffered and survived a ruptured brain aneurysm, 4 years ago and by the grace of God and the help of her family, she was able to return to her position as a medical product manager for a highly successful medical corporation. In 2000 Michele and her sister opened a women-only exercise franchise. You can read her other article, "A Slave to Priorities" on the Sermon Illustrator website at www.sermonillustrator.org and at the 2theHeart archives, January 17, 2003, "Spare Change".


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The Letter Box:


Dear Deborah,
I have enjoyed your 2theheart stories in the part (especially Funny Friday stories) and "Left Behind" was a great one! I also had a horrible time when my dad sold our house to go live with the snow birds (I was 46 at the time) and still hold a grudge for it! Thanks for a delightful story! Barbara



Dear Deb,
Great story - one I think we can all relate to! I am not looking forward to the day that my folks sell our (MINE!!) family home and I hope I have the good grace to at least see the humor in it as you have. God bless you and thank you for your wrtings. Geena



Dear Deb,
Great to see another of your stories here! I hope you enjoy your new Kentucky home - it's a great place to live! Please send more writing to us at 2theheart - I've personally misses your stories! Love, Patricia

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