A Recycling Bin and a Revelation

I looked -- half with sympathy and half with confusion -- at the old man standing outside my house on Monday night.

"How long have you been doing this?" I asked.

"Since I died," he said.

Like most people, I mostly avoid conversations with strangers -- especially strangers who, at first glance, seem a little creepy. I'm too busy, have too many fun apps on my iPhone, and well, who talks to random people anymore? That's what the Internet is for, right? Why actually make a human connection that can potentially lead to awkward conversation or suck up some of my precious free time? Seems weird in 2015.

"Since you died?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"I died in 1996," the old man said.

The old man, who is named Paul (and sometimes Kenny and sometimes Jesus Christ because of the reactions he got in a past job as an inspector), goes through the recycling bins I leave outside my house every week. I always thought it was kind of odd, especially in the suburbs. Is it really worth the time and effort to collect cans you can redeem for a nickel. One hundred cans, which seems like a lot of work, is five dollars, and really, what can you buy with five dollars?

So, every week, I look outside as he searches through the bins.

"What do you think he's looking for?" I ask Bridget. "Isn't this weird for the suburbs? I understand homeless people do this in the city, but this guy doesn't look homeless or anything."

She usually shrugs. And I just look, wondering why someone would go through my boring recycling bins.

Until this Monday, when I headed out with an extra bag of trash. As I walked toward him on the sidewalk, he looked up at me and stared.

"Can I ask what you're looking for?" I said.

"Yeah, I like to get the box tops for the kids," he replied. "You know, for schools."

"Oh, really. That's great," I said, kicking myself for being judgmental.

"Yeah, and I get the tabs for the Shriners," he said.

"That's really great," I said. "How long have you been doing this?"

And that's when Paul (and sometimes Kenny and sometimes Jesus Christ because of the reactions he got in a past job as an inspector) told me his amazing story. One day 19 years ago, he went to the hospital to get treatment for an infection. While he was there, he felt some discomfort in his chest. In fact, he was having a silent heart attack.

"I saw a heavy, grey curtain coming down," Paul said. "The doctor told me if I was anywhere else, I wouldn't have made it."

Paul then went to a bigger hospital where he was told he'd have a quadruple bypass surgery. As it turned out, he had a six-way bypass, which, frankly, I didn't know was a thing. The doctor told Paul, who was traditionally stubborn about such things, that he needed to change his lifestyle -- no more greasy food, less sitting around, more exercise.

"I tried a treadmill and a stationary bike, but those were boring," he said. "That's when I started doing this. It's just kind of snowballed."

Every week, Paul (oh, and also "The Can Man" to some kids) goes around to recycling bins in Reading, Wakefield, and Wilmington. He's even started collecting toys for kids, when parents leave them out for him. I got the impression that he likes to talk when people listen. He's probably told the story about his near-death experience -- and the one about the magic toy tea kettle that held 4,109 tabs -- hundreds of times to hundreds of people. But I hope he knows it stuck with me.

Without thinking, we all judge people all the time, don't we? It's human. That guy seems like a jerk. Do you see the outfit that woman is wearing? I wouldn't yell at my kid that way.

Sometimes great things happen when we put judgment aside. Sometimes sympathy and confusion turn into admiration. Sometimes creepy looks turn into smiles. Sometimes you make a connection. And sometimes you hear an incredible story about someone dying.

Thanks for the chat, Paul. See you next week.

The Three Little Bigs Is an Abomination

Have you read Walt Disney's Three Little Pigs lately? I'm guessing no. Unless you have young kids, it's a little strange if you've opened this book in decades.

But whether you have young kids, are planning to have kids, already had young kids, or don't like kids at all, I have a tip: Never open this book again. Ever. It's an atrocious story with a shoddy plot that teaches horrible morals.

Why is it so bad? Where do I start?

Before I do that, though, let me take a quick detour into these so-called timeless kids' books. As you can imagine, with a two-year-old, I've read a truckload of these stories in the last couple years. To throw out a broad generalization, they are garbage. They are outdated, confusing, and, often, scary. Do you know what actually happens in Pinocchio? Or the plot and ending of The Gingerbread Man? The main character is a huge jerk and then a fox eats him. That's the story. Yeah, gather round, kids.

Back to Three Little Pigs. Seeing this 1933 Little Golden Book on the bookshelf at our Cape rental for the week, I got excited. Doing the wolf's voice, adorable pigs, a story with nice lessons. Daddy-Daughter memories, here we come. Or so I thought.

The story started as I remembered, with three little pigs heading out into the world. But before we even got past Page 1, things got strange: "The first little pig did not like to work at all. He quickly built himself a house of straw." How did this lazy pig "quickly build himself a house of straw?" That sounds absurdly complicated. What was the adhesive? Where did he get the straw? And then he sings a stupid song that includes the lyric, "I toot my flute." Nice. Good message.

Then the second pig "did not like work any better than his brother, so he decided to build a quick and easy house of sticks." Quick? Easy? We then see an image of him hoisting up a door and his window already has curtains. So, so far, the message is: Kids, don't work hard. Just go build yourself a quick house with any materials you can find and then "dance all kinds of jigs," as the two pigs do. In other words, architects are idiots.

The third pig makes a house of bricks and chides the two lazy swines for their poor work ethic. Finally! Something resembling a lesson. Work hard and good things will happen. Then, the story gets rolling, as the wolf attacks the first pig's house: "Little pig, little pig, let me come in!" "Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!" Ah, the memories. The wolf, you may recall, blows down the first house and then runs over to the house of sticks.

Good stuff, right?

But just as my hope was restored, the plot falls to pieces. Inexplicably, instead of blowing down the house of sticks, the wolf dresses in an elaborate sheep costume to trick the pigs into opening the door. It doesn't work ("you can't fool us with that sheepskin!") and then the wolf just blows down the house anyway. So why bother with the damn sheep costume?! Just level the damn house and let's move on!

As I tried to climb out of that absurd plot hole, the wolf finds he can't blow down the house of bricks. So he decides to go down the chimney and jumps "right into a kettle of boiling water!" Then, the book ends with "the three little pigs spent their time in the strong little brick house singing and dancing merrily. And the big bad wolf never came back again."

Really, wolf? Why not try a different costume? Or wait for the pigs to come out? One pot of hot water and you've given up the entire quest? Good lesson on how to stick with it, wolf.

That's not even my biggest problem, though. The most ridiculous part of this 22-page literary farce is the moral or, rather, the lack of a moral. On the last page, we see the three pigs singing and laughing together. How is that justice? One pig works really hard building a fantastic house and, then, after laughing at him while he's working hard, the two lazy freeloaders are picking out their bedrooms? Didn't they learn a lesson of some kind? Hard work leads to success and security? Lazy pigs turn into bacon? Anything?

Nope. Instead, the lasting lesson is clear: Find yourself a sibling or friend who works harder than you and ride his coattail's to an easy life.

See you never, Three Little Pigs. I hope the wolf comes back and devours all of you.