June 11: Sun Rose Thinly, Pride Fest, First Idiot of the Day

Santiago watches his lines . . . 

The sun rose thinly from the sea and the old man could see the other boats, low on the water and well in toward the shore, spread out across the current. Then the sun was brighter and the glare came on the water and then, as it rose clear, the flat sea sent it back at his eyes so that it hurt sharply and he rowed without looking into it. He looked down into the water and watched the lines that went straight down into the dark of the water. He kept them straighter than anyone did, so that at each level in the darkness of the stream there would be a bait waiting exactly where he wished it to be for any fish that swam there. Others let them drift with the current and sometimes they were at sixty fathoms when the fishermen thought they were at a hundred.

The old man knows who he is.  Knows how to fish better than anyone.  He's been at it since he was a boy.  It's in his blood.  Genetic, even.  He is a fisherman.

My son and I attended Pride Fest today.  He's been looking forward to it for weeks.  He wore his "Proud to Be Me" shirt and a Pride flag as a cape.  His long hair was wild.  It rained the entire time we were there, but he didn't care.  He bopped from booth to booth.  Talked to friends and strangers.  Played pinball.  Ate a nacho cheese soft pretzel.  He was completely happy.

Before we went to Pride Fest, we hung around for a while at the library where I work, just killing time.  We went to the petting zoo that was set up for the kids.  Dogs.  Goats.  Horse.  Chickens.  I read in my office for a while.  My son played on his phone.  

We went to the bathroom before heading to the festival, my son all caped up and ready.  I was in a stall.  My son was at the urinal.  I heard the door to the bathroom open.  I heard a male voice say something, and then my son said, "Yes, this is the boy's restroom."  The male voice said clearly, "Disgusting."  

"Excuse me!" I shouted from the stall.  "I'm his father!"

I came out of the stall.  There was older man standing by the door, eyes downcast.  He shuffled to the urinal to do his business.  I went to the sink and began washing my hands.  "You know," I said over my shoulder, "everyone is welcome at the library.  If you can't handle that, maybe you shouldn't be here."

The man finished at the urinal.  He turned and came to the sink and started washing his hands.  He never looked at me.

I looked at him and said again, "Everyone is welcome."

Without looking at me, he went to the door and left the bathroom.  I followed him,  He didn't pause.  He headed straight to the stairs that lead to the first floor.  He didn't look back.  I watched him from the top of the stairs.  He just kept walking and left the building.

My son had returned to my office.  "Well," he said when he saw me, "that was the first idiot of the day,"

That's all my son said.  He brushed it off.  Refused to let the encounter ruin his day.

Saint Marty couldn't have been prouder of him.