The man with no opinions.(Kevin Hughes) “What do you think about the brouhaha in Congress?”

The man smiled back at me. I only struck up a conversation with him because my wife said I would enjoy the conversation. The man put one of his gloves on his worktable and wiped his brow with the other hand before replying to me:

“I don’t.”

“Excuse me?”

He smiled an easy smile at me.

“I don’t. “

“Why not, it is National News…you need to know what is going on in the world.”

He smiled again.

“Can you see what I am doing?”

I was puzzled. What did he mean, and why did he change the subject.

“Yeah, you are trimming some flowers.”

A gentle laugh.

“Is that what it looks like to you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean you are just pruning bits off here and there. No big deal.”

He laughed that same gentle laugh.

“What if I told you I was doing some genetic work on plants that rivals any of the work being done in Big Research Institutes and even most Medical Systems.”

I was dumbfounded.

“Are you telling me you are doing some high tech sort of plant genetics…with a pruning sheers?”

Again, that laugh so gentle, with out a hint of artifice.

“Why, what tool would you recommend?”

I was beyond myself…before I could answer him…he raised the flower in his other hand so I could see it clearly.

“What do you think of this flower?”

“It’s a rose.”

“Indeed. Give it a smell.”

I did. It made me smile.

“Wow, that smells…pretty?”

Another puff of a soft chuckle came from the man holding the flower.

“Yes, it does, but look at the colors closely.”

I did just that.

“Hmm…well, it is a rose, but it is different too. The colors are wrong.”

This time he laughed out loud.

“Wrong? Wrong?! That’s your opinion on a rose that is considered one of the rarest flowers on Earth.”

I pointed at the flower…

“That?! That is a rare flower?”

He nodded his head and spoke reverently ..as if he was in Church talking about Sacred rites:

“Young man, that flower is a rose. A very rare rose. It is called a: “Juliet Rose”. It took a fella over in the UK fifteen years to grow …and breed it. I am the first to do it in the United States. There is nothing wrong with it at all. It is a marvel to anyone who knows anything about flowers. But your opinion has been noted.”

I felt a flush on my face begin to grow. I got a little short with the man.

“So what other flowers should I not have an opinion on?”

He raised one eyebrow.

“Ever seen a Blue Rose?”

“Roses aren’t blue!”

He didn’t chuckle this time. He just stared at me for a second.

“Yes, in fact, they are. Some of them. Quiet pretty too. And…very expensive. And they exist in spite of your opinion.”

All my ire kind of leaked out. I was being stupid…and I knew it. I also thought I was being set up. By my wife of all people. She just wanted me to embarrass myself in front of this seemingly innocent man. I would give her a few “opinions" of my own when I get home.

I laughed a mean spirited laugh.

“So my wife set me up with a flower expert just to flaunt my ignorance of plants.”

“Who’s your wife?”

“What? You have to know who she is…other wise how would you know my weak knowledge of flowers?”

“First, I don’t know who your wife is. I don’t know who you are. Until you came up and started talking with me…I never met you before in my life. And…I am not a flower expert. I am a hobbyist. David Austin, now he would be an expert in flowers.”

“Who in the world is David Austin?”

He pointed to the rose I had looked at earlier.

“The guy who first grew those…the Juliet Rose. Fifteen years he worked at getting it to grow just that way. It is so rare, it doesn’t even have a scientific name yet. Just the name Juliet Rose.”

“Okay, well, I am sorry I didn’t know you could do plant genetics with a pruning sheers and some flowers. I am sorry I didn’t know about the Juliet Rose. I‘m sorry I didn’t know who David Austin is…or was. And…I am sorry I accused you of plotting with my wife to expose my ignorance.”

He took off his other glove, set it down on the table, went over to a small sink washed and dried his hands…then he waved me into a small area with a picnic table in it.

“Have a seat.”

I did.

“Lemonade?”

He pointed to a pitcher with condensation rolling down the side.

“Sure.”

I tasted it. It was the best lemonade I had ever had. I tried to make a joke.

“So if life doesn’t give you a bed of roses, make lemonade from life’s lemons”

He waved his glass at me as if he was toasting me.

“Amen.”

His next question came out of the blue. I thought at the time. Now? Well, I am not so sure.

“Okay, why did you ask about Politics first?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I am not an extrovert. I don’t open many conversations. So, I could be wrong, but I remember being told to introduce myself first. Then I was told to be polite and tell the other person it was nice to meet you. I was taught never to bring up Religion or Politics unless it was with close friends and in context. So why did you open a conversation with something that you didn’t want to know the answer to?”

“What? I did want your opinion.I mean the country is a mess. We have to do something about it.”

“Ahh…I see.”

“What?”

I know. I know. I was getting tired of saying; “What?” every other sentence myself.

“You didn’t want my opinion, you wanted to vent yours. Mine doesn’t matter to you.”

His look told me he knew he was right. He was.

“Then there is the small matter of thinking your wife somehow met with me to concoct some prank that would both embarrass and dismay you. What kind of woman do you think you are married to? A person that would consciously try and be devious to hurt your feelings? You don’t think a woman who loved you enough to marry you…would want to hurt and embarrass you…do you?”

I was feeling a bit ashamed. He was right. How twisted had my thinking become that I believed that anyone who didn’t agree with me, was plotting against me. I was beginning to see…and I sure as hell didn’t like what I was seeing.

“You see young man, you are suffering from the effect of opinions on thoughts. I don’t have any opinions…or at least not many. Simply because I know so little. The only thing I am certain of is today. I don’t know if tomorrow is going to come for me…or not. So I don’t waste my days having opinions on most of Society, Cultures, Personalities, or Politics.

I know a little bit about flowers. (Waving his hand to include the many flowers surrounding his small shop). I know, (turning his ring around his finger so I could see it) that my wife loves me. In my opinion, she is the most beautiful, wonderful and intelligent creature that ever walked this earth. In my opinion…I am the luckiest man alive. And being alive is a gift. Those are my most common opinions. Those are the few things where I think my opinion holds any weight at all.

So my chain of thoughts, almost every day are about, or on…things of beauty. “

I had to admit, this guy sounded like some kind of Monk, Spiritual Guru, or maybe just a nutcase. He was happy. Content even. I could see his face which was quick to smile, and the only lines were laugh lines. He wasn’t agitated. Upset. Confused. No, he was like a deep well of cool cold water. Refreshing by just being.

“But what about all the tragedies in the world? Don’t you care?”

He shrugged. Then he said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Do you have any children?”

“What?”

“Children. You know, those little bundles of curiosity- stuffed with joy- that exasperate you while enriching your life immensely.”

“Yes, yes, I have three.”

His eyes went unfocused. I could see he was in a place far from the here and now.”

“I had a son, and a daughter, and a grandchild. I lost them all in a fiery car wreck that killed them all. The girl that hit them was fighting with her boyfriend via text messages.. In one single second, I lost all but my wife and my one living sister. So, yes, I am familiar with tragedy.”

I was silent for a moment. I could see where he was going. I didn’t talk to my children about pretty things. In fact, they often tuned me out, or stormed out of the house. I stayed silent for a bit longer. But I still had opinions. Ones I thought he would share. Like: anger…revenge…and righteousness.

“Surely you must have an opinion about texting and driving. I mean it has to make you mad that the girl that hit you survived and you lost everything. And she got away scott free to live her life without a backward glance. It isn’t fair!“

He looked at me with what amounted to pity. I swear that look made me feel…tainted.

“She didn’t get away “Scott free”. She was in the hospital for months. She tried to kill herself …twice. She killed five people …you couldn’t be fully human and not have that haunt you the rest of your life.”

“Where is she now?”

He smiled. Again it was a soft gentle smile.

“Now? Well (looking at his watch) well, she should be on her way home with her daughters. Twins. Lovely children.”

“Wait, you know where she lives? You keep in touch with the woman who killed your family?!”

He gave me that look. If I was one of his flowers, I would have withered.

“You ever texted or answered your phone while driving?”

I didn’t lie.

“Yes. I know, But I keep them short. I am not a danger to anyone.”

“Yeah. I thought so. So did she.”

A chill ran down my spine. I understood. She was texting for just a few seconds…just as I had many times. Who knows what could have happened in those few seconds.

“To answer your question. Yes. I do know where she lives. I know both of her children and her Husband too. “

“What? Why? How?”

“ They live with us. Without us…she couldn’t have healed at all. She would have taken her own life. Without her…we would have given up on life. Oh sure, when we got the call about six weeks after the accident…we had to think about it. Her Mother had called to tell us that when her daughter woke up from the coma…her first words were:

“Mom, I didn’t hurt anyone did I?”

When her Mom told her, she went hysterical and tried to stab herself to death with the IV needle in her arm. They sedated her. Two days later and she told her Mom:

“I have to see their Mom and Dad. I have to apologize …in person. God, I am so sorry Mom. So very sorry.”

She cried for the next week, and wouldn’t eat. So her Mother finally called to see if we would be willing to meet with her daughter at the hospital. My wife was not sure she could handle it. I wasn’t so sure myself. But it was a tiny bit of closure. It wouldn’t change anything, but at least we would know that someone had remorse. So we went. “

I could see how bad he was hurting remembering those moments…I reached across the table and patted his hand. He smiled. Then he continued on.

“So we went there prepared for what…I don’t know. My wife took my hand and we came into her room together. There wasn’t a monster laying there in that bed. There was a scared, hopeless, broken and battered young girl. Nineteen years old. She was way to thin, had tubes, wires, monitors and casts all around her body. She had a scar on her face that sent from her bottom set of teeth straight up to the middle of her forehead.

Whatever anger or grief we had melted away at the sight of someone else’s daughter in absolute pain with no relief. She couldn’t change what happened. She wanted to. She would have gladly given her life to have those seconds before the crash over again. We could see that …she was just a scared little girl in over her head.

My wife crawled right up in the bed with that little girl. I held that little girls toes, just about the only part of her body not covered with gauze or some sort of cast, or medical monitoring device. We all just cried. After that…well, we visited every day. Her legal fees stripped her Parents of almost everything. She spent a year in jail.

We took her in when she got out. It took time. But a decade later she met a guy. One thing led to another…and well, now they all live with us. She can’t move out…and we don’t want her too. She’s our daughter now. He is our son. And those are our grandchildren. We don’t live in a soup of hate…with revenge as the main course.

None of us are the same as before the accident. It is a different life. We had to earn this one. “

I thanked him for the Lemonade. I had to go home and talk some things over with my wife. I found I had so many opinions that needed to be reconsidered. Maybe I didn’t have to have an opinion on anything. And maybe…just maybe…I should keep my mouth shut. Could I forgive someone who killed my child…even by accident? I don’t know.

I do know that any opinion I might have about how this man and his wife dealt with their grief was just that…a measly opinion with little or none of my time, or heart, invested. I had no right to judge his actions. And no reason to hold an opinion either. Opinions are just expressions of judgement. And who am I to judge?

My old Sunday school lessons came back to me:

Judge not lest ye be judged.

Yeah, that opinion came from a Higher Source.

I met a man with no opinions.

And I am glad.

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