Old Man example essay topic
It was all very sudden, like finding a hair in your soup, but what I felt was not disgust, it was more like waking up from a sweet dream only to find yourself sleeping on a bench in the park. As soon as I saw him, I knew he was going to stay with me forever. He was an old man, somewhere between seventy and eighty, I could not really tell since he was walking in front of me and I was not able to see his face clearly. Nevertheless, even looking at him from behind, a story began forming itself in my mind. Of course, everybody has a story, more precisely a life story, but when it is not available to us, we create it ourselves and it becomes real, even if only in a virtual sense. So, at great speed, a little film started to roll: his childhood years were spent during The Great Depression, the most difficult times the American people have ever known; what followed was World War II and he was sent to fight overseas; upon returning home he was not able to return to his old workplace, so he struggled in a series of jobs for several years while, at the same time, tried to raise a family, maybe buy a house, a car and make some dreams come true.
Did any of his dreams come true? I hope with all my heart he had known a little happiness in his lifetime, because when I encountered him he was searching for empty aluminum cans, one of those things some unfortunate old souls like him do in order to supplement their Social Security, that is to say to live. 'My God', I thought, 'this could have been my grandfather!'. ..
Shrunk by age and hardship, with his head down, scanning the ground for garbage to sell at thirty cents per pound, I figured he needed to gather ten pounds to make three dollars, what can three dollars buy these days and how was he going to haul the ten pounds, an old, frail and arthritic man like him? All of this lasted but a few seconds, and by the time I had passed him by, everything inside of me was different, the day had lost its brightness, the breeze was sending chills down my spine, the chirping of the birds was covered by the roaring of car and truck engines, I could smell their fumes and the breakfast I had had tasted like poison. But my strongest feeling was fear, for I knew his image was going to revisit me, time and time again, just like the image of the teary old woman at a bus stop six years ago, or the one of the sadistic man beating his dog twenty-two years ago, and on, and on. And I never did anything but observe, helpless with myself and certainly of no help to them. sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex.