My Hero

I see him every few days, gathering people's trash. In Costa Rica there are some places the garbage trucks don't go. Farther up past my house is one of them. So he gathers people's trash. It is how he makes his living. He passes in front of my house pulling his cheery, multi-colored handcart along the rocky, potholed road that winds up the hill. It is a difficult hill. I know. I climb it every day for exercise. It is strenuous enough to get myself up the hill let alone a cart. Yet his sisyphean task is made all the more difficult by his twisted leg and deformed body. Still he carries on pulling, and gathering. In spite of the struggle each step must take an enormous smile illuminates his face.
Initially we greet each other with the usual morning pleasantries;
"Buenos Dios, Senior"
"Buenos Dios."
But soon our meetings become a resting spot. We stop and visit. Even with my poor Spanish and his slurred speech, we manage to communicate.
One particularly hot day I share my water with him, it is still slightly cool, not yet warmed to the days temperature. He takes great pleasure in the coolness of it, and we are both refreshed.
I look forward to our encounters, they give me focus. I've come to see his journey as a reflection of my life here in Costa Rica. Each day I pull along my baggage of insecurities and fears. There is my uphill struggle to learn a foreign language when my mind is not as sharp or retentive as it use to be. My constant struggle to find ways to be of use to the community around me. I am easily frustrated by my limitations.
Ah, but then I see my friend... my hero... for that is what he has become, with his contagious optimistic attitude, his ready laugh, and his friendly wise eyes that seem to answer the question in mine: "Why is life so hard, Why did you get such a rotten deal?"
"Yes, my life is hard, but I understand that hard things make me strong."
Once again I am refreshed, encouraged, and determined to emulate his courageous persistence. So I smile and carry on.