It's his eyes. Of course, it's his whole being and his laughter and his dancing and his stories, but it's his eyes.
Of course, it's his tone, and his jokes, and the caring way he takes your arm when he walks with you, but it's his eyes.
They have seen so much--so much change, so much suffering, so much pain. So many stories, so many hurts, so much than could blend into one undifferentiated mass of sad humanity. We could think our weighted down souls aren't even noticeable under all this sediment.
And yet, it's his eyes. They see you, so naked in your particularity, and cut through so many layers that you feel new. And I can look at people like that now. And I am grateful to the man.