My friendship years ago with an elderly judge taught me a lot about the twists and turns of life. I’m so glad we became friends.
Years ago I took a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel as I indulged my curiosity and took all of the courses that I had thought looked interesting but couldn’t take when I did my honors undergrad degree. I was playing basketball on the university team, too, so I had little time between class, practice and games to actually work. I found the ideal job as the front desk clerk at a hotel for the winter semester. Few people checked in or out between 3:15 and 11:15 p.m., so I had lots of good time to study while getting paid. The arrangement worked well for me.
Making a new friend
Very early on an elderly gentleman approached the front desk and introduced himself to me. He was a permanent resident of the hotel and a judge in the provincial court. Each night for the first week the judge came by and exchanged some small talk with me both on his way to dinner and when he retired for the evening. Then he started to ask me more in-depth questions and tell me a little more about what interested him. Soon he asked me to come out from behind the desk and join him in a comfy leather chair in the expansive and ornate lobby. There our conversations moved to a new level as he regaled me with stories from his day in court, and we talked about books and politics. It was an enjoyable time for both of us and, for me, a pleasant break from studying (those courses that seemed so interesting weren’t that interesting after all).
One evening the judge asked me if I could come by the hotel the next day between classes and spend a short amount of time with him. He said that his daughter and granddaughter were coming for a visit and that they would most likely be in the dining room having tea at the time that I promised to come. I asked what prompted the visit from his daughter as the judge had told me that she rarely visited him although she lived only a couple of hours away. He looked rather sheepish and explained that he might have told her that he had met someone. We both smiled at each other knowing the fun we could have with our little ruse the next day.
Meeting the family
Dressed like the 20-something I was, I paraded into the dining room right on time, books in hand. The judge jumped up out of his chair like a 20-something, his 70-plus years melted away, and clasped both my hands. With great adoration evident in his manner, he introduced me quite formally to his daughter and young granddaughter. While his daughter’s words were polite, the delivery was frosty as she looked me up and down. As promised, I pleaded a need to get to class and left within mere minutes of my arrival.
Recounting the event
Later that evening we were like two teenagers recounting the afternoon’s event. My appearance was everything that the judge had hoped for – brief but impactful, letting him get down to the true business of engaging with his daughter and granddaughter. When we finished our amused recollecting, the conversation turned serious, and it was the same refrain from the judge that I had heard many times – the lost connection with adult children who only intermittently communicated with him.
Reflections
The judge was very reflective and speculated as to what he had done wrong as a parent. He portrayed his wife as the one who had held the family together, after all he was a lawyer and then a judge with unusual demands on his time. Even after his children were adults he continued to support them in pretty substantial ways, allowing them to pursue their passions without the burden of having to fully support themselves. We both considered this a sad outcome to that part of his life.
Only months after I started, I left my job as the front desk clerk at the hotel, but I didn’t leave the judge. On cold and rainy days I would pick him up at the hotel and head for a blustery point overlooking the ocean with its crashing waves and wild spray. There inside the car, we would settle down to a good book and a lazy afternoon of reading and occasional conversation. He would drift back in time to places deep in his memory and would recount the days when he was something to behold – a cocky and confident young lawyer out to conquer the world.
Ageless despite aging
On one of the last afternoons I spent with the judge walking arm and arm through the botanical gardens, he told me that while I looked at him and saw an old man at the end of his life, he was looking out at the world through the eyes of a 28 year old. While his mind had sharpened and his body had aged, his outlook had remained that of a young man. It was in that one instant that I saw him for what he was – ageless.
I grew up a lot through the conversations that I had with the judge. He asked me questions that made me deeply ponder ideas and ideals. He shared insights that allowed me to leap forward without painfully learning lessons on my own. He told me his own successes and failures and prompted me to think about my own. I was the better for knowing him as my friend.
