Photo Courtesy of Susanne Anette

 He wears a rainbow colored knitted cap. One side says, “Hat Man” the other side says, “Days Out.”

“Do you want to hear a good story? Do you want to know why I’m the happiest man alive?,” he asks me as he gently tapped my shoulder.

He then proceeded to tell me a jumbled, but happy story, about anger, aneurysms, surgeries, babies, his family, and death. It was very personal…He was a bit crazy…He was wonderful.

Hat Man drives a shuttle back and forth from the Minneapolis Airport and Days Inn. Around Christmas time 1982, the year that I was born, he blacked out from a terrible headache. He was rushed to the hospital by his family where a neurosurgeon worked on “zapping” one of three aneurysms on his brain.  He woke up several days later blind and paralyzed on one side of his body. Through more surgeries and therapy his sight returned and he no longer suffers from paralysis.

Throughout the operations and recovery his wife stood by his side. With support from her family they were able to have a home and raise their son and two daughters.

He stated several times, “My life is a miracle. See that green dot on my watch, that reminds me every time I look at it about God and his love. All I have to do is look down and I know that He is with me.” He restates this without realizing he’s already told me three times. (Due to the surgeries Hat Man has trouble remembering anything after 1982…he can’t even tell you what he had for breakfast. He writes notes to himself and keeps a journal so he can “remember” the details of his life.)

Hat Man then proceeds to tell me about the death of his neurosurgeon. At the funeral he cried and cried. So much so that he attracted the attention of the surgeon’s grieving widow.

She walked up to Hat Man and asked him, “Who are you and why are you so sad?”

Hat Man continued to cry, “I’m sad that such a great man died. I’m sad that I could never do enough to repay him for what he did for me. He never knew how thankful I am. Thanks to him I have a second chance at life.”

She replied, “Don’t be sad. My husband worked hard and was a good man. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Yes, anything.”

“Be happy and live your destiny.”

After the funeral Hat Man went home to talk to his wife. He told her about meeting the neurosurgeon’s wife. He also explained to her that he, a graduate of the University of Minnesota, could no longer remember the definition of destiny.

Hat Man’s wife then drew him a picture of a tree. She told him, “Our destiny is the path and direction that our life takes. Because we love each other so much our destinies are intertwined like the branches of this tree. We live our destiny every day. We have raised three beautiful children, we have three grandchildren, and we love and take care of each other. You share your story with all the people you meet on the shuttle and you read to children at schools and talk to them about second chances.”

After this Hat Man turned to me and gently touched me on the shoulder again, “Isn’t that a good story?”

“Yes,” I replied, “That is a great story.”