Franklin

Driving to work this morning I passed an exit sign for Franklin University which triggered thoughts of a young Nigerian-American man who attends our parish named Franklin.  I see him almost every week we are able to attend, standing quietly near the back of the church during Liturgy.

He is from the local urban community: poor, family free, and looking to do odd jobs to make a living.  I have a worn strip of paper in my wallet that he gave me a year or two ago with his name and phone number printed on it.  "General Purpose Handyman Services Offered" it reads.

My five year old loves to talk to him at Coffee Hour because his outlook is so child-like and without calculation or rancor.  My son likes him because he wears "cool clothes" that are athletic and Franklin treats him like an equal.  He is not like any other adult my son has met.

I told Franklin once that our kids look up to him and he has a responsibility to maintain their confidence in him as a role model.  He looked slightly taken aback, like he had to think about that for a bit. Then a kind of meek smile came across his face and he said, "Wow, that is really something to say.  I will try my best."

I knew very little about him, only that he was born in Nigeria and his family was not around.  I never learned why he is living here alone.  I never learned why he chose to come to our church so faithfully as a quiet presence.  The only thing I know for sure about him now is that he died on Friday at thirty years of age.

May his memory be eternal.

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