This week I witnessed what I can only call the fine art of old dude forgiveness. It was a moment so impactful, yet so understated, that all I can do is describe the scene and you can decide for yourself what lessons you take from it. Here goes:
I’m writing at a coffee shop and I notice an older guy sitting by himself waiting for someone. He’s late 70s. Maybe early 80s. Old golf shirt. Thin, white hair parted at the side. Spotted, pale arms. Gold bracelet.
He’s nervous. I can clearly see it. There’s a tension about him. Just a thing you notice when you write in coffee shops a lot. His eyes keep darting to the door and then darting down when it’s not the person he’s waiting for.
After a while, another older man comes in and they make eye contact. He’s dressed the same. Less hair. A slight shuffle when he walks. He gives the first guy a quick nod. It’s cold. Curt.
The first man’s eyes dash down to his coffee cup. He sinks in his seat a bit.
The second guy gets in line, orders, grabs his coffee and slowly sits across from the first guy.
They stare at each other for a moment.
It’s clear neither knows where to start or what to say.
A beat. Then two. Then three. They both look down, then back at each other.
I’m eight feet away and I can feel the tension.
Finally, the first older guy starts to speak:
“Thanks for meeting me. I… I just want to say that… I… I… “
Another beat… Two beats… The words are stuck in his throat. His mouth freezes. His bottom lip shakes.
Then the second older guy cuts him off with a wave.
“Ahhh… We’re old. Forget it. I forgive you. Let’s just move on.”
The first guy is stunned.
Like he’d sweated and stressed and rehearsed this moment and this meeting for weeks and now… it’s over.
No big conversation. No arguing. Nothing.
“Really?” the first guy says.
“Yeah. We’ve been friends too long, and life’s too short. Especially for old bastards like us.”
The first guy looks like he’s going to cry. He’s close. Tears fill his eyes. But he doesn’t.
The second guy reaches out and pats his hand. Firm. Knowing. Looks him dead in the eyes. It’s clear that’s all he’s going to say on the matter. What’s done is done. We’re moving on.
This sends a shock wave of relief through the other guy. Like a tension valve has been released. He breathes through his nose and sits up in his chair.
They stare at each other again.
The first guy takes a huge, deep breath, exhaling what seems like the weight of his life’s choices.
Then the second guy says, “Good to see the Jets lose, huh? Screw all the New Yorkers…”
“Screw the New Yorkers,” the first guy says, snapping out of his daze.
And that was it. Football talk from then on…
And I have to say, I don’t know what their issue was, how long it went on, or what their relationship is…
But there are a thousand life lessons in this exchange and it was a beautiful moment between two old dudes…
Two old friends… forgiving, forgetting, and moving on with their lives to preserve the friendship.
Had to share this with you all.
Can’t stop thinking about it.
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Jon Finkel
Editor-in-Chief, Midlife Male
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