From the moment I saw him, I knew exactly how he felt.  It was lunchtime at my favorite little teriyaki place, and I’d plopped myself down at the table across from him and his two kids.  His daughter looked to be about 5 years old, and his son around 4 – both in infamous “Kinetic Stage” of their development.

And kinetic they were.  Neither wanted to stay seated, and the moment he got one of them settled, the other would be off doing something “impolite” – such as standing up or talking too loud.

I knew what he was going through – my own kids were at that stage just a couple of years back.  We dads love our kids, but when Mom’s not there, caring for even one youngster can be overwhelming.  And two?  Well, hockey fans, that’s what we call a power-play.

After what I’m sure felt like a five-minute eternity, their food finally arrived – two mountainous orders of chicken teriyaki for the three of them to share.  He began splitting one of the chicken mountains to apportion to the kids, when the four-year-old boy began to protest.  Loudly. That little guy wanted Mt. Chicken all for himself.  His father knew it; all of us in the restaurant knew it; and the people in the parking lot did, too.

Quickly, he zapped the kid with his “Intense-Dad-Glare,” hoping against hope to find the boy’s volume knob and turn the kid down.  Then, when IDG failed, he resorted to the old, “Danny, do I need to take you outside?”

“Uh-oh,” I thought.  “He’s resorted to the ‘Take-You-Outside’ threat.”  I knew from experience that Dad was in trouble.  Danny kept on screaming, and his father had to choose between following through on the threat and leaving his daughter alone in the restaurant, or not following through and tacitly inviting Danny to ignore his every fatherly command for eternity.

I wanted to offer to watch his daughter while he took Danny outside to defend his fatherly authority.  But he didn’t know how fully I shared his angst.  To him, I was a stranger, and in this day and age….

The man looked around and saw that none of us at the other occupied tables looked very treacherous.  “Allison,” he said, “I’ll be right back,” and he walked outside with Danny.

Allison sat contentedly at the table, playing with a toy.  Soon, she noticed me smiling at her.  “Does your little brother do this very often?” I asked.

She smiled back and rolled her eyes, “Oh yes!” she said, “He bothers me all the time!!!”

“Well, y’know what?” I told her. “He’s your little brother, so bothering you is his job.  He looks like he does it really well.”

We both giggled for a moment.  It made my day.

Soon, Danny and his father returned, and the waitress came with their check.  Smiling, she looked at the kids and asked, “What are you two doing today?”

“We’re going to the hops-pital,” said Danny.”

“Yeah,” Allison added, “our Mommy’s there.”

The waitress gave them a quizzical look.  “She has cancer,” Dad explained. “It started in her breast.”

“Well I hope they caught it early,” said the waitress, her voice clearly determined to keep things cheery.

“No, it’s actually in the end-stage.”

Danny grabbed Allison’s toy, and Dad began negotiating a toys-for-peace agreement.  Thankfully, we were all spared another cheery reply from the waitress.

I looked at him again.  His wife was dying. His kids would grow up without their mom.  And here I’d thought I knew what he was going through!

At the door, he looked back at us and smiled. “Now you can eat the rest of your lunch in peace.”

I wanted to say so much to him then.  I wanted to tell him that he was doing a great job, even though I know it must be hard; to hug his kids every day, for God knows they’d need him to; to simply be there for his wife and kids in the days ahead, because the simple act of being there is often the greatest gift of all.

But instead, all I could manage was a quiet and heartfelt, “Hang in there.”

I realized that I didn’t have a clue as to what was that guy was feeling; I’d never been where he is now.  However, as he herded his kids out the door I also felt deeply and profoundly connected to him, too. It was then that I realized that the closest of human bonds result not from getting to know other people well, but rather from fully appreciating how much of them we do not.  In this case, I had felt connected to this man when I thought I understood him, but only when I realized how completely unknown and alien his experience was to my own did that bond gain its true strength.

“Hang in there,” may not have been much, but the words came from deep within me.  And at that moment, to this man whom I’d presumed to know so well, that tiny gift was the best I could possibly offer.