I met this 92-year-old man on a morning jog in Virginia Beach one early morning along the coast. He is a retired Navy officer, a widower who deeply misses his wife who he refers to as the love of his life. He was beaming at the opportunity to share his stories, like the fact that his last name “Care” was actually “Caré” pronounced like “pureé.” But because the typewriter 75 years ago didn’t have that symbol, the State of NY made him change it to Care.
Earnest Care. Sounds like the name of a protagonist in a classic novel.
Mr. Care reminded me that everyone has a story worth telling. And just in case I don’t have a willing listener when I’m 92-years-old, I’ll keep blogging my story.
My poor grand kids.