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I went for a walk through my small neighborhood today. I usually cut through Roy’s driveway. I saw he was here. A native of a parish of New Orleans, his “beach house” is his getaway. He’s survived major hurricanes in two states and does his own yard work … with a chain saw. I saw his garage lights on and his American-made SUV in the driveway. As I cut through, eyeballing his love of fruit trees with the Calamondin orange, heavy with fruit of which I’ve plucked many, I spotted his bumper stickers: “Trump 2020. Repeal Obama Care. Liberal Media – Stop Distorting the news.”
It’s hard to catch Roy. Although hard of hearing, he hollered at me a couple years ago, “Hey Linda! I’m not sure if I’ll be around much longer – my legs are giving out.” I could see the effects of diabetes. When I first met Roy on a walk, he offered me a beer and showed me pictures of his open heart surgery on his phone. I said, “yikes, Roy!” He said, “Hey, I’m still tickin’,” with a wry smile.
He always remembers my name. He told me he was an engineer and helped design a major waterway in Texas, that bordered with Mexico. He loves to tinker on his cool sports car in his garage, and yesterday he was standing straight as an arrow with the garage door up – evidence of time in the military, a defiant stance, with lots of gump. He’s pushing 90, but he’s still hopeful for Trump 2020.