When I was living in Hawaii I used to stop by this park on the way home from school to visit my homeless friend. Old guy. Said he was a war vet. Hasn’t seen his family in years. So we would kick back. And he would tell me stories just to pass the time.
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He would talk about his kids who by then probably had kids of their own. Kids who never even knew they had a grandpa living off the land in the middle of Honolulu. But I would listen. Because I knew he just wanted someone to listen.
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He said he fought in desert storm. And I clicked with it because my uncle did too. And my uncle and I, we were close. So I gave him that respect. Started calling him uncle. Well he told me stories. Happy ones, funny ones, sad ones came up the most.
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I asked if he ever planned to go back home, I was a kid, so I didn’t understand why he couldn’t just fly back. But he waved the dumb questions and chose to answer either way. Simply saying stuff like “nah. I’ve been gone long enough. To them I’m probably dead.”
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I told him how my dad lived away from me. And it was just me and my mom. And I never stopped thinking of my dad. And idk if it hit him as much as his comment hit me. But he nodded. Kept wiping his face too. I thought it was sweat at the time. It probably wasn’t.
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So time went on, I’d stop by the park about 3 times a week. Sometimes to sit and talk. Sometimes just to drop some food. But it went on for about 2 years. I knew everything about this stranger. All the truths and the lies. I got older. I understood more.
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But you know what gets to me the most, and I think about “uncle” every now and then. Even 10 years later. What gets to me the most is I never got this guys name. I never even asked what state he was from. Well uncle, I hope you’re doing well. And I hope you made it home.
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There's so many people I've met through the years who I know so much but at the same time so little about, and I think of them and hope they're doing good.
I like to imagine that just me thinking of them makes their day better somehow 
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