A few hundred feet South of Kealakekua Bay lives Kona Kay, a friend of ours. One day, while we visited her in 2006, a truck drove up to deliver several hundred pounds of flour and sugar.

The tall, muscular driver and I soon had a lively conversation while he was unloading and stacking the heavy sacks of flour and sugar. He must have been in his mid thirties, although at first glance he looked much younger. I especially liked the friendly, happy twinkle in his eyes.

Noticing my accent he asked me many questions about my convoluted life, and when he had finished unloading he had heard quite a number of stories of my unusual life.

By this time we were friends and he confided that he too had had an unusual life. He had grown up in Los Angeles, where as a teenager he had fallen in with a wrong crowd. And without going into details he explained that drugs, guns, and the wrong company can ruin a man’s life. And so he had spent seven years in San Quentin prison.

“When they let you out they give you one hundred dollars,” he told me. “And the moment they handed me my money I promised myself a real life. I got a job, I worked hard, and finally became a co- owner of the company where I worked. Now I am a co-owner of this delivery company here in Hawaii. And here I fell in love with the most marvelous woman in the world, got married, and am now expecting to be a proud father in another four months.”

Just then my wife joined us. He showed us a photo of his wife, - and was she ever a beauty. And I mean not just on the outside. She radiated such inner beauty and strength as I have seldom seen.

As he pocketed his precious photo he turned to us again: “Every morning I wake up and see her I thank my fate, which started out to be cruel but now made an about turn. I am the happiest, and the luckiest man in the world. Just think, the sweetest, most beautiful woman and me, a convicted felon. And despite her handicap she is always happy, laughing, and spreading cheer in all directions.”

I did not want to ask what kind of handicap he was referring to, but I guess he saw the unspoken question in my face. “I am so proud of her,” he almost whispered. “Going to college and getting her degree, despite her not having any arms and having only one leg.” After a moment he added: “Thalidomite, you know.”

As he left, Margo and I watched his truck slowly disappear around the corner at the end of the road and without a word we turned to each other. We hugged for a long time, standing in the middle of the road. We had just seen Fickle Fate smiling on someone.