I was looking up at him as I talked to the fast-tuned, checker/clerk, Calvin, at the Groceryway here in Muirsville. He bounces while he works behind the register and has really nice dental work; and, after a bit, the conversation got into a topic we both are interested in, physical fitness; he's a former linebacker and me, Kamaroh, well!, I'm just a hero.
And, of course then that got me into talking about me and the YMCA and also sharing the news with him that, after having spent four months on the front porch of Denver General with the other little kids recuperating from the Polio epidemics of the Forties, I had served four years in the Marine Corps.
Calvin asked me how it was; was I was able to keep up on the marches; did I do okay on the obstacle course; how did I do with the rifle? "No, I couldn't keep up; and no! I didn't always do okay; and no they didn't treat me nicely; and, I am a fair-to-good shot now and I was a very bad one at that time." But, it turned out okay," I said, "because I did do that then , now I am a hero," and, I shrugged, because being comfortable with being a hero is only like wearing my old frayed Levis truckers jacket just a part of who I am, Kamaroh from Nebraska and all.
Calvin's smiling response to my verbosity was, "I like that..." He shook my hand and was halfway down the isle to the back reaches of the upscale caverns of Groceryway while I put my American Express Card away in my new Dockers wallet and got a good grip on my double plastic grocery bag.
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