text: Note: A Talking to Strangers - In Search of Human Connection Series He sits alone at the end of the bench overlooking the San Clemente pier. I ask if I can join him. He seems pleased. He has a gray beard and glasses, a cap with a name I don’t recognize. He’s maybe early 70s. His hands are in his lap, tan with age spots. They shake a little. &#x200B; He looks down at the beach to a group of guys at a picnic table, says that was him a long time ago. Military. He was in ‘Nam in 68. Came back and spent time at Camp Pendleton. Met his wife and married, but it didn’t work out. He had issues. He wasn’t right. He didn’t blame her. It was his fault. &#x200B; Says he later met Rose and remarried. Now he has grandchildren. A wide smile. He took them to Hawaii, where he was once stationed, and to San Clemente, where he and Rose visit three months every winter. He surprised the grandkids with plane tickets so they could join them - they were thrilled. &#x200B; This summer they’re renting a beach house at Cape Henlopen in Delaware, where his granddaughter did an internship in park services. He worked in the same field after the military. &#x200B; One day his granddaughter met Biden when he was out for a bike ride with his security detail. They chatted. No...a photo wasn’t allowed. Biden later crashed on the bike...did I remember? Vaguely. &#x200B; He tells me Rose and her friend are down by the beach. They like to walk, but he can’t...his body is just...but that’s okay. In a couple hours, they’re having dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf. What will he order, I ask? Oh, he knew exactly. Shrimp and a beer, Modelo. He can already taste it. &#x200B; His cell buzzes. Rose. He puts the phone to his ear. I can tell Rose is in charge. Issuing instructions about next steps. He says yes, okay...well, whenever...he’s fine. &#x200B; He asks me about my life...education, where I’m from, if I was still working. I share my story about moving from the east coast to CA. Tell him I will retire in 24 months. First time I’ve said those words out loud to a stranger. It feels good. &#x200B; A few minutes later, Rose arrives with her friend. Rose’s face is a little deformed...a large, swollen jaw. I tell Rose her husband has good stories. She grumbles, like, don’t get me started. She’s heard them all before. &#x200B; He tells Rose I’m retiring in 24 months...music hearing him say that. I tell them when they return to San Clemente in a couple of years, I’ll be sitting on this bench, but on a Wednesday. We chuckle and say goodbye. Never exchanging names. I wish we had. &#x200B; I wait a few minutes and start my trek back up the hill. I come face to face with them as they head down toward Fisherman’s Wharf. Maybe an earlier dinner is in order. I wave bye to him again. He smiles and waves back. &#x200B; It was a human connection I enjoyed. A reminder that I really must talk to more strangers.