Papa Cado (Expanded Fifth Edition, 2019). M.G. Crisci

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      I MET ARTHUR MERCADO, known to his four granddaughters as Papa Cado, some time ago, at the Scripps Hospital Healing Hearts Program in Southern California, where we both live.

      Why was I there? My high-powered, self-consuming business career had left me little time for a balanced lifestyle. In other words, I had allowed myself to become a genuine candidate for a heart attack. Two years prior, I had been diagnosed with a cardiac condition called atrial fibrillation—a fancy medical term for a racing heart. While my doctor reassured me, “We don’t have any actual research on the correlation between life expectancy and atrial fib, so you’ll probably live a relatively normal life. However, there was a caveat, "But, you realize you are now in a different risk category.”

      She also "suggested" I enroll the hospital's heart healthy program, which she described as "an innovative, holistic approach to lifestyle change." It only took me 24 months to heed her suggestion! By then, I was sick and tired of taking pills that made me lethargic and light-headed. I visited the program director. She took one look at my pouch, gave me the 60-second overview, took my credit card, smiled, and welcomed me. "We think you'll find the 12-week program quite comprehensive." The program curriculum included classes in Yoga, Spirituality, Stress Management, Nutrition, and Vegetarian Cooking. I was rather skeptical, to say the least.

      Day 1 found me in the gym with four overweight, middle-aged men and women grunting and groaning. Day 2 was filled with stress-management support sessions—a first for me. Next thing I know, I'm sitting in a semi-circle. This gentle, soothing sounding dude named Ozzie introduced himself as "the group's facilitator." He asked us to hold hands. It seemed a little effeminate to a preconditioned-macho man like myself, but I’d already spent the $2,800 bucks, so I put my hand out. Somebody else touched it. I looked straight ahead.

      Ozzie asked how we felt. You could hear a pin drop. Since I was an accomplished public speaker, I volunteered to go first. I figured my new "best friends" might as well hear my tale of woe, so they understand how lucky they are not to have my problems.

      I spoke about five minutes. Ozzie nodded. Kris, Keith, Shirley, and Arthur said nothing. After all, nobody was allowed to place value judgments—it was part of the ground rules. I thought to myself, ‘good on ya.' Probably shocked the hell out of them.

      They each began to recant their stories. For some strange reason, I decided to listen. (I’ve never been considered a great listener by anybody).

      Twenty minutes later, I concluded I might be the luckiest man in the world. Kris told an incredible story about the loss of a limb he had dealt with since birth. Shirley has endured enough pain and suffering to drive you to atheism. And Keith, who appeared healthy as a horse and strong as a bull to boot, was looking for someone to explain why he was filled with rage.

      The final member of the support group was a gray-haired man wearing gray pants, white t-shirt, white sneakers and a thick gray beard and glasses, sitting to my right. He hadn’t moved a muscle or uttered a word. I said, "And, what about you?" He stared blankly and scowled deeply. 20 seconds of dead silence seemed like 20 minutes. Then he spoke. “I’m Arthur. I told those people that I don’t like to talk about myself.”

      Even though I'm loathed to make value judgments (joke), I concluded he was borderline manic depressive or a deeply introverted personality on a quest not to identify.

      I was also happy I was not within swiping range of the switch blade he surely carried in his back pocket to open beer cans and slice mangoes.

      I also decided I was going to make it my job to crack this guy’s shell. After all, I had the secret weapon—my bizarre sense of humor. (I find myself hysterically insightful, all the time).

      “So, Arthur, is that all there is to that?”

      He stared at me. I tried to smile. Frankly, I was a little intimidated.

      “The doctors tell me I have СКАЧАТЬ