I don't talk to people much on planes. I'm one of those only children who don't have boring times. We're self-sufficient.
But flying back from San Antonio, I was sitting across the aisle from a guy with a prosthetic leg from mid-thigh. It had the blade foot. He had gotten on the plane when they called for military, so I was pretty sure in a general sense what happened to the leg.
And we had an amazing conversation.
He was in T-shirt and shorts, and we were flying to Denver, so I expressed to him that I hoped he had warmer clothes. He laughed and said, oh, yes, but the shorts were less chafing for his stump and easier to get on over the blade.
Me: I'm so glad the technology is there now. I had a childhood friend (faithful readers cross-reference Curt from so long ago) who lost his leg at mid-thigh, and back then, prosthetics were plastic and wood. One hinge at the knee. So glad to see the improvements.
Him: Yeah, I tell people I have three legs (laughing). Different builds for different needs. This one's good for walking. And I'm lucky that I have all this paid for. This one leg cost $140,000.
Me: As it should be paid for. I was in the Marines, my son was in the Marines, both peacetime although he was infantry camped out as part of the tripwire in Kuwait. Thank you for your service, and I'm sorry for your injury.
Him: You can be angry, or you can get on with things. I decided it's not gonna stop me from doing anything that I want to do. (He was entirely jovial as he said that.)
(We talked about sensory and balance issues at the start. He was laughing and telling me about times when he forgot he didn't have a leg and fell down. I told him about my amputee friend falling off the toilet and the anger and tears that accompanied that indignity. Then we talked about ski resorts in Colorado, helmets while skiing, and how he managed skiing.)
Me: I travel, and I've come to appreciate how fortunate we are. I listened to people in Nigeria who ate what they pulled out of the ground and water, did their business in the brush or the river, and got their water from the town well or the river, undoubtedly downstream from where other villages did their business.
Him: You got that right. I was doing humanitarian mission in Haiti, and the conditions were unbelievable.
That got into some racial talk.
Me: I didn't feel out of place in Nigeria until three things. One, one of our hosts with whom I made friends, said something about "You whites." Jarring. Then a villager lady was walking by me, eyes wide, and curtsied as she went by, and I wanted to say, "Hey, I'm no [deleted] colonial master." (He laughed.) Then when we're eating by the beach, I saw a white lady walking with a guy, and I thought, "Hey, she stands out," followed up by the next thought, "So do YOU, you moron."
Him (laughing): Yeah, it's a different perspective. When I was in Egypt, I got told, "You're not really black." And I'm, like, What? I always thought I was black. But they said, "Nope, you're not really black." They have their own ideas about identity.
Me: And you also learn that America is not always number 1. I've been to some places that were really well put together, better than here. And if I'd broken a leg in, say, Japan? I'd be treated and released and not have to take out a second mortgage.
Him: Can you believe that here? Your house or your health. Choose one.
(More talk. Son and I were Marines. Son-in-law was Army. This guy was Army.)
Me: "I never bought into the inter-service rivalry stuff."
Him: "Naw, we're all out there trying to get the same things done."
And on and on. It was the best conversation I'd had with anyone for a long time. He had such a great attitude. Nothing was stopping him, nothing was getting him down, and his attitude about his fellow humans was entirely friendly and expansive.
Mark. His name was Mark. Thank you, Mark, for that day's inspiration.
