Vitamin Teed

Teed comes up in my mind pretty often. Slender as a sapling and older than my childish comprehension, he parked his little cart outside the public pool every day and sold candy. I imagined him as a tall man, though I’d never once seen him stand. A crippling injury left him permanently seated, his cart his only ticket to mobility.

I recall his slender face and white hair, his teeth perpetually straight in my mind, brightening his perpetual smile. I can’t imagine we pool rowdies were ideal customers. Jostling, damp, selfish, sugar-crazed and constantly yelling, I can imagine we tried his every last nerve. But Teed never let on. He simply showed up. Every day. Dispensing his candy cigarettes, his pink penny gum with the Indian on the wrapper, and his jewel-toned sugar sticks that would glue your back teeth together if you bit down too hard.

I loved Teed desperately. I hated the fact that he couldn’t walk. We never so much as shared a short chat, but I watched him every day. I adored him for providing me with low-cost snacks. And I coveted his little cart.

Truth be told, any time spent on shore, including my interactions with Teed, brought me joy. I hated the water, after all. It was my dirty little secret. I hated the Arctic-cold area where the hose piped in fresh water, probably straight from the polar ice caps. I hated the way the lifeguards bantered above us and the jarring shrills of their whistles. I hated the way other peoples’ arms and legs flailed around me, hated the discomfort of entering a domain where I knew only one or two friends. I hated the fact that it cost my parents thirty-five cents to get me in – or was it seventy-five? Either way, it was too much. And I hated my ineptitude in the water.

I loved getting out though. Loved the rough heat of the concrete beneath my numb limbs when I lay in the sun to warm up. Loved emerging from the pool portal into the outside world like ants from our nest, streaming in every direction to stretch legs and lungs while the lifeguards took a swim. I loved the park next door, the rickety bleachers I climbed. And later, I loved the innocent rendezvous with biggest my crush, Chris … who’s still my biggest crush today.

Of course I loved rushing to be first in Teed’s line. I loved surveying his wares, hearing his low drawl as he counted back my change. I loved the moment of dignity he gave me when his eyes met mine and he took my few coins. More than the candy, this was my secret addiction.

The pool would always make me nervous, after all. I would always be awkward and shy. But here on dry land, during the moments I conducted business with Teed, I felt my worth. I was important. Trustworthy. Someone with whom an adult shared a smile. I ached to fit in with my friends, and swimming at the pool upped my chances. But as much the high of their affection lured me in, the kindness of Teed kept me coming.

Love – genuine love – saves our days. It carves hidden facets into otherwise shadowy memories, transforming them into priceless jewels. It shows us ourselves through gentler eyes. It transforms us.

I’m grateful for Teed, for his cart. His life wasn’t easy or his vocation ideal, but you’d never have known it, to watch him. Maybe that’s why I loved him so fiercely. He showed me a pattern of who I wanted to be – who I still want to be, even now. Gentle. Honest. And marshalling all that gentle honesty to communicate others’ value back to themselves.  

I don’t have candy, or a sweet cart. I have the miscellany of my own life, as do you. But oh, let these things be our tools -- our weapons in the war for real love. My efforts feel mundane, but I believe that each smile, each steady gaze, steadily chips away. I believe that all acts of genuine love, love like Teed’s can and will change this world’s shape. I believe it enough to keep trying, anyway.

One honest act at a time.