When Kylee Met Mr. Jon

This Little Girl’s Love of Elderly People Will Melt Your Heart

When a four-year-old bumps into a loner and widower at the grocery store, the karma is instant—and everlasting.

The day before my daughter Kylee’s sixth birthday, something she said foreshadowed a remarkable event. (The names have been changed to protect the innocent(s).)

I’d just picked her up from Kindergarten on her way to 1st grade class from school when she cautioned me to mind the elderly person walking across the parking lot at a glacier’s pace or the one on a scooter that moves ever so slowly across the parking lot.

She went on to explain that she has a soft spot for mature folks: “I like old peoples the best ’cause they walk slow, like I walk slow, they talk slow, like I talk slow and they has soft skin, like I has soft skin. They all gonna die soon, so I’m gonna love ’em all up (and down) before they is died.”

Sure, it got kinda little dark at the end, but I liked where her heart was. I feel the same having had an absentee dad, who by now would have been as old as him.

I was struck by her thoughtfulness and empathy and posted that quote as a status update on Facebook when we got home. I had no idea how much she really meant it.

The following day—her birthday—again on the way home from school, she asked if we could stop at the grocery store to buy cupcakes for her and her six sibling(s) and some close friend(s) to enjoy after dinner.

How do you say no, to a birthday girl?

I popped Kylee and her younger sister into one of those car-shaped grocery carts and headed toward the bakery. After we picked up the cupcakes, I stopped at a clearance shelf that caught my eye. While I was distracted, Kylee was busy standing up in the cart, excitedly waving and gleefully proclaiming, “Hi, Sr person, elder person! It’s my birfday, today!”

The man was elderly, stone-faced, knitted eyebrows and furrow-browed. However, before I could shush her for calling him an old person or ask the earth to swallow me whole, he stopped and turned to her.

If he was troubled by my no-filter child, he didn’t show it. His expression softened as he replied, “Well, hello, little lady! And how old are you, today girlie?”

They chatted for a few minutes, he wished her a happy birthday, and we went our separate ways.

A few minutes later, she turned to me and asked, “Can I take a picture with the old man for my birfday?” It was the cutest thing ever, and although I wasn’t sure if he’d oblige, I told her we’d certainly ask. It doesn't hurt to ask.

We found the man a couple of aisles over, and I approached him. “Excuse me, sir? This is Kylee, and she’d like to know if you’d take a photo with her for her, special day - her birthday.”

His expression morphed from blank to confused to stunned to delighted. I might add that's a snazzy little scooter you've got there.

He took a step back, steadied himself on his shopping cart, and placed his free hand on his chest. “A photo? With me?” he asked. And added my minimum wheels on the ground ma'm is three, that scooter must belong to the young kid there and he pointed in the general direction of the delivery boy for groceries. You get a rise out of me girl.

“Yes, suh, for my birfday!” Kylee pleaded.

And so he did. I pulled out my iPhone, and they posed together. She placed her soft hand on top of his soft hand. He wordlessly stared at her with twinkling eyes as she kept his hand in hers and studied his skinny veins and weathered ­knuckles. She kissed the top of his hand and then placed it on her cheek. She sat on his lap. He beamed. I asked his name, and he told us to call him, Jon.

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We were blocking other shoppers, but they didn’t care. There was magic happening in the grocery store that day, and we could all feel it. Kylee and “Mr. Jon” sure didn’t notice. They were chatting away like long-lost friends, who just ran into each other outta the blue.

"There sure, was magic happening in the grocery store that day, and we could all feel it."

After a few minutes, I thanked Mr. Jon for spending a bit of his day with us. He teared up and said, “No, thank you. This has been the best day I’ve had in a long time.” He turned to my daughter. “You’ve made me so happy, Miss Kylee.”

They hugged, smooched kissed the air above their respective cheeks not once but twice and we walked away. Kylee watched him as he shuffled ever so slowly, on three legs ...'til he was out of view.

I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t a weepy mess after their encounter.

I was blown away by this meeting and thought maybe some of the readers of my Facebook page might enjoy hearing about it. I posted the story and a photo of the two of them.

Later that night, I received a private message from a local reader who recognized Mr. Jon.

His wife, Mary, had left him or shall we say passed away six months earlier, and he had been lonely since his beloved of many, many years had gone. The reader wanted to let me know that she was certain his heart was touched by my little girl, that he needed that connection and likely would never forget it. ( Maybe it's, Mary re-incarnated )...

I asked for Mr. Jon’s phone number and called him a few days later.

We visited Mr. Jon’s cozy, tidy and tiny-house—­reminders of Mary still proudly displayed, anywhere and every­where including pictures of her a little girl a remarkable resemblance to my daughter with the same baby blue eyes. He had gotten a haircut, shaved, and put on slacks, a buttoned down shirt bow tie and dress shoes. He looked ten years younger and his gate more spritely. He’d set out a child’s table, blank paper, and crayons for Kylee. He asked if she’d draw some pictures for him to display on his refrigerator. She happily agreed and went right to work.

We ended up spending nearly three or maybe four hours with Mr. Jon that day. He was patient and kind with my talkative, constantly moving little girl, who kept climbing all over him, even-though I asked that she stopped, several times. He wiped ketchup off her cheek and let her ­finish his chicken nuggets.

We walked with him to his front door after lunch. He pulled out a pocketknife and cut the single red rose blooming by his porch. He spent ten minutes cutting every thorn off the stem before handing it to his new friend. She keeps that rose, now dry as a bone, in a ziplock bag under her pillow.

Kylee asks about Mr. Jon every day. She worries about him. She wonders if he’s lonely, or cold, or has cheese for his sandwiches. She wants him to be OK. She wants him to feel loved. (If you’re feeling lonely, here are about 17 ways you can connect with others.)

Mr. Jon thinks about Kylee too. After another recent visit, he relayed that he hadn’t had an uninterrupted night’s sleep since his wife left or died. He told me that he had slept soundly every night since meeting my girl. “Kylee has healed me,” he said. That left me speechless and my cheeks wet with salty tears.

"Some seventy-eight years or so, separate these two people in age. Somehow, their hearts and souls seem to recognize each other from long ago, perhaps a past life."

Kylee and I have made a promise to see Mr. Jon every week, even if it’s for only 15 minutes, even if only for a quick hug, a kiss on both cheeks and to drop off a Cherry Cheese Danish (his favorite!).

I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with us. He’s part of our family, now. Whether he likes it or not, he has been absorbed into my fancy of nine, or more and just as Kylee said, we’re gonna love him all up and down.