The Old Man in Rome

I never talked to him, but what he did in those few moments taught me a lesson I still remember. He was an older man. He looked like he ate well. On his head he wore a floppy white hat that matched his white beard. He was wearing a plain yellow shirt and a pair of blue overalls. It wasn't his appearance that spoke to me. It was what he did.
In the summer of 1997, my grandparents gave me a wonderful gift. They enabled me to take a tour of Europe with the Heritage High School French Club. Madame Jane McDevitt was our leader. On this day we were in Italy. I believe we were in Rome, but it could have been in Florence. None the less, I found myself sitting next to an old water fountain.
This older man came stumbling down the street. He looked around. I guess he saw the group of young American tourists watching him. But I really don't know what inspired him to do what he did. He began to sing. From the depths of his body he began to belt out opera music.
In his voice I could hear his love of life. He was happy to be living. He wasn't ashamed. He wasn't bashful. He was living life. He was singing his song.
From time to time, like today for example, I think of this man. I will never know who he is. I do not know if he is still alive. All I know is that on that summer day in 1997 he taught me a lesson in living.
As I write this blog post, I am pondering my 29 years of living so far. Tomorrow I will turn 30. I might just celebrate by singing out loud in the middle of town. Who knows, I might teach somebody else a lesson in living.