Let's face it; no matter how much we want to think we are "our own person", we have to admit we are to a large degree a product of our society. I'm not suggesting that that's a bad thing, but it is something that many of us just don't want to accept, especially those of you who, like me, are in the peek of the baby boomers generation. We like to believe we have some sort of freedom or independence that is unique to our generation. Who knows, maybe that's true.
Freedom can be experienced in many ways. Traditionally, especially during Thanksgiving, we think of freedom in regards to political or religious issues. This is a great time to contemplate on that perspective. However, that is not what this commentary is about.
People who know me and my family know we are "lake people". We love to go to lakes and swim, fish, boat, ski, and just experience the beauty of a fresh, clean Minnesota lake. I have always loved vacationing at a lake, and I now own a cabin on a beautiful lake in central Minnesota. It is a place of peace and enjoyment for my entire family. But let's get back to the idea of freedom. In this case I am not referring to political or religious freedom, but to total freedom. So what the hell does that mean?
Approximately twenty years ago I was vacationing at a lake with my family. My children were very young, and I would like to say that I was too. One evening my wife and I sat by the fire on the shore of the lake and were mesmerized by the incredible stars in the sky. We could actually see the glow down the center of the Milky Way (very cool - recommended for anyone who hasn't seen it).
We put the kids to bed and soon after my wife went to bed too. I still had to tie up our boat before the night was over, and as I was doing so, I was consumed with the vastness and majesty of the night sky. Without any real thought or planning, I found myself pushing the boat out into the lake. I started the motor and cruised over the glassy water far enough to feel removed from the shore entirely.
I turned the motor off and sat in silence beneath the Milky Way. I had a strange compulsion to be part of it. No, I was not feeling like I was communicating with aliens, but I was truly in the moment of this wonderful night.
With hardly a thought I removed my clothing (hey - this isn't a porno story, I was all alone out there) and I slipped into the silent water. It was one of those nights where the water was like mirrored glass. There was no breeze, it was too late for mosquitoes, and the water was refreshingly cool. I let myself drift out from the boat and rolled over on my back, floating in a relaxed position. My ears were just below the surface of the water, blocking what few sounds were emanating from the shoreline. I floated easily and breathed deeply, seeing nothing but the starlit sky, feeling little but the bobbing of the water, and hearing almost nothing.
For a moment it was as if I was floating in space. There was nothing to constrain me; I was alone, free from all tangible ties, and experiencing a sense of beauty and, yes, of total freedom, that I had not thought possible. Dare I say that I felt just a bit of a connection to God?
All good things must come to an end, so in time I swam back to the boat and cruised back to the cabin. But I never forgot that experience.
In the years since I have often repeated that event. Sometimes by myself, which is always special, but in recent years I have exposed my entire family to this wonderful experience. There are times when I have gone out into the lake at night with a few daring people, and there are times when we have actually had up to twenty people sharing in this wonderment. Even with the large number of people, the ground rules are still the same; be silent, absorb your surroundings, and experience the freedom and peace that was meant to be ours.
I don't know if anyone will ever truly be free by the precise definition of the word, but I have experienced a form of freedom that I will always treasure, and I have passed this on to my children. I'm not sure what could be more special than that.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
I Am The Best There Is (And So Are You)
I was sitting on my humble little patio tonight, staring at an almost full moon, and feeling something between satisfaction and frustration with my life. Hey, don't tell me I'm the only one who thinks that way.
Suddenly a sense of knowing came over me. That happens once in awhile to all of us, even though we sometimes tend to ignore it. What I realized was this; I am the very best there is at what I do.
I already hear the criticism out there. Who the hell am I to think such a thing. I must be incredibly vain.
Well, I don't think I will challenge the vain comments, but I do want to make something very clear; I do believe I am the best at what I do. I also believe everyone, each of you, is the best at what they do.
This may seem odd and possibly too philosophical, but I firmly believe it to be true. Of course, you first must understand what it is that you are "the best" at. I know there are things I can do as well as, or better than, anybody. The fact is, so can everyone else. While it may seem like a nice thought to recognize talent in every individual, I want to be clear that I in no way think of this as a nice, motivational idea. It is very simply a true statement.
On the surface this is not a difficult concept. If we think hard enough, we can see something good in everyone. A person can be a good parent, a good boss, a good child. We can all be good at something. But I mean everyone is "the best" at something, and I do mean everyone.
Think about the last time you passed a homeless person on the street. Did you feel pity? Anger? Resentment? What exactly did you feel? Did you think that the person you were observing was "the best" at something? I'll bet not. But trust me, that person was. What was that person the best at? Ah, there is the point. We don't know, and we will probably never know.
What about the geeky guy in high school? The person with a severe handicap? The slow learner? Some look down on people like this. Of course many of us are big enough to treat them with dignity and respect. But do we really? Do we really respect them? Do we realize that each of them is "the best" at something?
Every single person not only has talent, but they are truly the best at something, whatever it is. The terrible shame is that, for the vast majority of people, often even for ourselves, we never find out exactly what that is. What a terrible, terrible shame.
When you see a person, possibly homeless and sleeping on a street, maybe old and in a nursing home, maybe someone who has a learning disability, and yes, maybe someone like you, know that in them (in you) there is something not just good, but something that is the best that there is. How wonderful it would be if we could all get in touch with that "something" in each of us. How wonderful it would be if we could even get in touch with that "something" within ourselves.
Suddenly a sense of knowing came over me. That happens once in awhile to all of us, even though we sometimes tend to ignore it. What I realized was this; I am the very best there is at what I do.
I already hear the criticism out there. Who the hell am I to think such a thing. I must be incredibly vain.
Well, I don't think I will challenge the vain comments, but I do want to make something very clear; I do believe I am the best at what I do. I also believe everyone, each of you, is the best at what they do.
This may seem odd and possibly too philosophical, but I firmly believe it to be true. Of course, you first must understand what it is that you are "the best" at. I know there are things I can do as well as, or better than, anybody. The fact is, so can everyone else. While it may seem like a nice thought to recognize talent in every individual, I want to be clear that I in no way think of this as a nice, motivational idea. It is very simply a true statement.
On the surface this is not a difficult concept. If we think hard enough, we can see something good in everyone. A person can be a good parent, a good boss, a good child. We can all be good at something. But I mean everyone is "the best" at something, and I do mean everyone.
Think about the last time you passed a homeless person on the street. Did you feel pity? Anger? Resentment? What exactly did you feel? Did you think that the person you were observing was "the best" at something? I'll bet not. But trust me, that person was. What was that person the best at? Ah, there is the point. We don't know, and we will probably never know.
What about the geeky guy in high school? The person with a severe handicap? The slow learner? Some look down on people like this. Of course many of us are big enough to treat them with dignity and respect. But do we really? Do we really respect them? Do we realize that each of them is "the best" at something?
Every single person not only has talent, but they are truly the best at something, whatever it is. The terrible shame is that, for the vast majority of people, often even for ourselves, we never find out exactly what that is. What a terrible, terrible shame.
When you see a person, possibly homeless and sleeping on a street, maybe old and in a nursing home, maybe someone who has a learning disability, and yes, maybe someone like you, know that in them (in you) there is something not just good, but something that is the best that there is. How wonderful it would be if we could all get in touch with that "something" in each of us. How wonderful it would be if we could even get in touch with that "something" within ourselves.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Why Do We Do It To Them?
Well hello to all my blogger friends (and I fully realize that I may be addressing no one). I want to address an issue that many people may feel is very sensitive. In fact, it's something that has been on my mind for a long time, but it wasn't until my kids started getting older that I realized it was a serious issue.
The issue is that of faith, or more specifically, how we adults attempt to teach faith to our youth. Part of my concern is that I don't think we actually "teach" anything. We repeat what has been driven into us for most of our lives, and we expect our youth to accept that.
If we were honest with ourselves, we would admit that issues such as faith, spiritualism, God, etc, are extremely complex concepts, more complex than many of as (all of us?) can truly comprehend. Yet we teach what we belief as if it were hard facts.
It's odd, because for the most part we are taught that when we experience difficult issues the best way to understand them is to question them. Explore different ways of thinking, discuss different concepts. In the end, we either find the truth or at least get a better understanding of it.
For some reason we are not allowed this privilege when it comes to religion. There is the "right" way to believe and the "wrong" way. The "right" way is virtually always defined by whatever our parents were taught to believe.
So we give our children two choices; 1) accept what we have been regurgitating over many years, or 2) reject faith and in essence become an atheist. Those are two pretty extreme choices.
The fact is, human beings have been wrong about most of what we have believed (science or religion) for hundreds and even thousands of years. But now we suddenly feel we know enough to be rock solid in our beliefs. Remember when that crazy Copernicus was bold enough to suggest the universe did not revolve around the earth? That was heresy then. It's fundamental truth now.
What is so wrong with people exploring their ideas and their beliefs? If intelligent young people have questions, why not research those questions. If there is a God, and I believe there is, this can only bring them closer together, not separate them. If there is not a God, who cares.
The point is that young people today have questions; serious, very legitimate questions. And let's face it; we older people do not have the answers. Can we not allow them to explore their questions? In fact, should we not actually join them in their exploration? Rather than turn away from faith, they may find a newer richer faith for themselves. And you know what? So might we.
The issue is that of faith, or more specifically, how we adults attempt to teach faith to our youth. Part of my concern is that I don't think we actually "teach" anything. We repeat what has been driven into us for most of our lives, and we expect our youth to accept that.
If we were honest with ourselves, we would admit that issues such as faith, spiritualism, God, etc, are extremely complex concepts, more complex than many of as (all of us?) can truly comprehend. Yet we teach what we belief as if it were hard facts.
It's odd, because for the most part we are taught that when we experience difficult issues the best way to understand them is to question them. Explore different ways of thinking, discuss different concepts. In the end, we either find the truth or at least get a better understanding of it.
For some reason we are not allowed this privilege when it comes to religion. There is the "right" way to believe and the "wrong" way. The "right" way is virtually always defined by whatever our parents were taught to believe.
So we give our children two choices; 1) accept what we have been regurgitating over many years, or 2) reject faith and in essence become an atheist. Those are two pretty extreme choices.
The fact is, human beings have been wrong about most of what we have believed (science or religion) for hundreds and even thousands of years. But now we suddenly feel we know enough to be rock solid in our beliefs. Remember when that crazy Copernicus was bold enough to suggest the universe did not revolve around the earth? That was heresy then. It's fundamental truth now.
What is so wrong with people exploring their ideas and their beliefs? If intelligent young people have questions, why not research those questions. If there is a God, and I believe there is, this can only bring them closer together, not separate them. If there is not a God, who cares.
The point is that young people today have questions; serious, very legitimate questions. And let's face it; we older people do not have the answers. Can we not allow them to explore their questions? In fact, should we not actually join them in their exploration? Rather than turn away from faith, they may find a newer richer faith for themselves. And you know what? So might we.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Pansies Aren't "Pansies"
Is anyone familiar with a pansy? I know some of you are. Of course, it depends on whether you're talking about the pretty, sweet smelling flower or the weak nerdy guy nobody likes. Well, I'm not sure how one relates to the other, but I now know that the real pansy (the pretty flower) is no "pansy" (the weakling that gets pushed around).
I currently live in the North Dallas area. I happen to love flowers, and I have a small but quite unique flower garden in my modest backyard. I suppose many of you think of Dallas as a hot, desert area like how the western movies portray most of Texas. In truth, Dallas is quite Midwestern, including its climate. As we transitioned from fall to winter, I knew the flowers I had were not likely to survive, but I was told that pansies could survive a Dallas winter. So I uprooted most of my flowers and replaced them with a wide variety of pansies. If I say so myself, it was quite beautiful.
Well, those of you who are football fans may recall that just before the Super Bowl, Dallas was hit with a severe ice storm and an extended cold period. This was more than the normal Dallas freeze; it was borderline unprecedented. So my wonderful pansies were crushed under snow and ice for nearly two weeks. That's pretty extreme for even a hearty flower. When the ice finally melted I was left with a decimated flower garden. Part of me wanted to dig out all the flowers and replace them, but it was still February. This could happen again. I just left things as they were. Over the next couple of weeks the weather improved, but not my garden. Oh well, life isn't always pretty.
Now just for a moment let's take a side trip away from my garden into my personal life. I'm not going to share details and I'm sure you're all thankful for that, but suffice it to say, I was going through a bit of a struggle with a number of things, including both job and...well...other things. Not a big deal; we all have these experiences.
So how do these two things relate? Well, maybe they don't, but an interesting thing happened just this evening. I had been out of town for a couple of days and just returned, tired and a bit frustrated. I went out to my patio to have a cigar (I know, a filthy habit. I'll quit someday, though probably not until after I'm dead.). As I was sitting there, I noticed my flowers had changed. By "changed" I mean they didn't look dead. It was dark so it was hard to tell, but there was a difference. I got up to take a closer look and I was astonished to see that some of them were blooming again! And more than just one or two, there were several. I gazed at the whole area, and I realized my flower garden was coming back to life! My pansies had weathered the storm; the frail, sweet smelling little flowers were stronger than the harsh cold and ice that had crushed them for two weeks. They took what nature had to give and they survived! Life was emerging from what I thought was a disaster.
I sat down, and in my contemplative way thought about this. One could say this was a fluke. One could say it was a lucky break. A religious person might say it was a sign from God. One could say it was just a normal act of nature. One could say anything, but what struck me at that moment was that I sure as hell am stronger than a frail little flower, and if these pansies could weather this storm, there is no storm that I cannot weather.
Did I read too much into this? Who can say, but let's face it, that's not the point. The point is that there is strength in everything, in everybody, that we don't always recognize until we need it. But it's there, and it's there for a reason. I would like to say that with this realization all of my problems dissolved, but that would be fantasy. However, I did spend the next half hour enjoying the moment and knowing with confidence that I will come out on top of whatever I encounter.
Whoever called them pansies in the first place?
I currently live in the North Dallas area. I happen to love flowers, and I have a small but quite unique flower garden in my modest backyard. I suppose many of you think of Dallas as a hot, desert area like how the western movies portray most of Texas. In truth, Dallas is quite Midwestern, including its climate. As we transitioned from fall to winter, I knew the flowers I had were not likely to survive, but I was told that pansies could survive a Dallas winter. So I uprooted most of my flowers and replaced them with a wide variety of pansies. If I say so myself, it was quite beautiful.
Well, those of you who are football fans may recall that just before the Super Bowl, Dallas was hit with a severe ice storm and an extended cold period. This was more than the normal Dallas freeze; it was borderline unprecedented. So my wonderful pansies were crushed under snow and ice for nearly two weeks. That's pretty extreme for even a hearty flower. When the ice finally melted I was left with a decimated flower garden. Part of me wanted to dig out all the flowers and replace them, but it was still February. This could happen again. I just left things as they were. Over the next couple of weeks the weather improved, but not my garden. Oh well, life isn't always pretty.
Now just for a moment let's take a side trip away from my garden into my personal life. I'm not going to share details and I'm sure you're all thankful for that, but suffice it to say, I was going through a bit of a struggle with a number of things, including both job and...well...other things. Not a big deal; we all have these experiences.
So how do these two things relate? Well, maybe they don't, but an interesting thing happened just this evening. I had been out of town for a couple of days and just returned, tired and a bit frustrated. I went out to my patio to have a cigar (I know, a filthy habit. I'll quit someday, though probably not until after I'm dead.). As I was sitting there, I noticed my flowers had changed. By "changed" I mean they didn't look dead. It was dark so it was hard to tell, but there was a difference. I got up to take a closer look and I was astonished to see that some of them were blooming again! And more than just one or two, there were several. I gazed at the whole area, and I realized my flower garden was coming back to life! My pansies had weathered the storm; the frail, sweet smelling little flowers were stronger than the harsh cold and ice that had crushed them for two weeks. They took what nature had to give and they survived! Life was emerging from what I thought was a disaster.
I sat down, and in my contemplative way thought about this. One could say this was a fluke. One could say it was a lucky break. A religious person might say it was a sign from God. One could say it was just a normal act of nature. One could say anything, but what struck me at that moment was that I sure as hell am stronger than a frail little flower, and if these pansies could weather this storm, there is no storm that I cannot weather.
Did I read too much into this? Who can say, but let's face it, that's not the point. The point is that there is strength in everything, in everybody, that we don't always recognize until we need it. But it's there, and it's there for a reason. I would like to say that with this realization all of my problems dissolved, but that would be fantasy. However, I did spend the next half hour enjoying the moment and knowing with confidence that I will come out on top of whatever I encounter.
Whoever called them pansies in the first place?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Yes, Angels Do Exist
Do angels truly exist? This has been debated for hundreds, even thousands, of years. First you must ask yourself, "What is an angel?" The answer, no matter how much theology we try and drag into the issue, is that we simply don't know.
Or do we. I can't say I know what an angel is, but I will say this; I believe there are times when protectors show up at the perfect moment in time. Let me elaborate with a personal example, and believe me, this is 100% true.
The year was 1982. I had been married for close to two years and we were expecting our first baby. In fact, my wife was eight months pregnant. We lived in the Minneapolis area, and both my wife and I were in love with camping and the wonders of the north woods. For those who don't know, Northern Minnesota is truly magical. So we set out on a three day camping trip to an area about two hours north of Duluth, which is a very beautiful but rugged, even inhospitable area.
I know what you're thinking. Why would anyone go camping with an eight month pregnant wife. You're right, I was extremely stupid, but that's not the point of the story.
We camped and enjoyed this wonderful area of the world (to this day it was one of my favorite vacations ever). Now, to add insult to being stupid, we had an old, unreliable car. But you know what, in our defense everyone our age did back then. As we were coming south out of the small town of Two Harbors our car started jerking violently and making the most hellish kind of noise.
Have you ever been in such a situation? You know that you're totally screwed, but you're trying to maintain some sort of presence of mind. But, in the end, you know you are screwed. Every rational thought that you should have considered earlier runs through your head; why am I camping with an eight month pregnant wife?; why am I driving an unreliable vehicle?; why am I asking myself these stupid questions? Okay, I immediately knew I was stupid and irresponsible, but the fact is I needed to do something to fix this.
To complicate things just a little (or a lot), this was at a time when most people did not have universal credit cards; no VISA, MasterCard, nothing like that. And if you haven't already thought I was being stupid, get this; I had no cash with me!
So there we were, along side a northern road, no car, no credit car, no money, and an eight month pregnant wife. How many can say they have been in that situation?
Well, to cut to the chase, a wonderful man (old and grizzly like everyone up there seemed to be) stopped and picked us up. Oh, did I mention it was Friday night where even the back woods guys like to go out and have fun? Well, this kindly man took us all the way to Duluth, which was about a half hour away. I could say he was our angel, but that would be too simple. Well, maybe he was in a sense, but not the primary angel we met that night.
As I said, we didn't have a universal credit card, but we did have a Mobil card. No money to our name, but we had a Mobil card. The kindly man took us to the first Mobil station he could find.
It was late afternoon and the station was getting ready to close. We talked to a mechanic about 25 years old, and he made it clear he had a party to get to that night. "What's our choices?" we asked. "You'll probably have to spend the weekend'" he said.
Bummer. Suddenly we realized the value of money. What would we do over the weekend in a strange city with no money and an eight month pregnant wife? I know, I already accepted the fact that I was stupid.
Well, this young mechanic was not without sympathy. He took the tow truck and went and retrieved our car. This took about 90 minutes at a time when he was wanting to quit work for the night. Then he spent about twenty minutes looking at the car and determined our universal joint had fallen apart. You don't need to understand what that is other than to know our car was inoperable. He said even if he wanted to he couldn't get replacement parts until Monday. He wished us luck and then left for his party.
We often think about what we would do if we were destitute, but most of us have never experienced that situation. My wife and I went and sat on the curb, with nowhere to go, nothing to eat, not even able to make a phone call (no cell phones back then). Few people will understand what goes through a person's mind at a time like that, but in addition to the obvious crisis we were in, I had those tormenting thoughts of having failed my family. My first child may be born on a street curb in Duluth! It was scary and humiliating, but there was nothing we could do. Can you imagine that? There was nothing we could do! In this modern era we could not even make a phone call!
We sat and talked. It was, in an odd sense, a bonding time. My wife could have chastised me, as well she should have, but she didn't. We talked, we discussed options (of which there were none), and even allowed ourselves to laugh at our stupidity. And then he returned!
A very modest pick up truck pulled into the station lot, and out jumped the young mechanic. He had shaved, showered, put on quite a lot of cologne, and was definitely ready for a party. Keep in mind this was another 90 minutes later.
He seemed exuberant. "Hey, I swung by a junk yard on my way home, and I found the part you need. I think I can fix this in just a few minutes." And he did just that. Of course it was a messy job, so even though he had cleaned up, he got grease and grit all over him. In about twenty minutes he was done.
Unbelievable! Totally unbelievable! But there is still more. When he finished and tallied up the bill, he told us it came to $35. Now granted this was a few years ago, but not that many. He towed our car thirty miles, went to find a replacement part, and then fixed the problem, all on a Friday night when he was suppose to be at a party. Trust me, even in 1982 that was worth much more than $35.
I was dumbfounded. I wanted to do something special to show my gratitude; maybe give him a big tip, buy him some good whiskey for his party, anything at all. But the fact was, I simply had nothing to give. We offered our most sincere appreciation and then returned safely home.
I never saw or heard from that young man again, and I never even knew his name. He was just a grease monkey on a Friday night in the late fall of 1982, but he helped us more than anyone can imagine. It's possible that he even kept us safe and protected my first baby.
Was this an angel? Some would say no, he was just a nice man. Well, I don't know what an angel is, but this young man deserves angel status in my book. I hope somewhere along the way his kindness has been returned many times over.
Or do we. I can't say I know what an angel is, but I will say this; I believe there are times when protectors show up at the perfect moment in time. Let me elaborate with a personal example, and believe me, this is 100% true.
The year was 1982. I had been married for close to two years and we were expecting our first baby. In fact, my wife was eight months pregnant. We lived in the Minneapolis area, and both my wife and I were in love with camping and the wonders of the north woods. For those who don't know, Northern Minnesota is truly magical. So we set out on a three day camping trip to an area about two hours north of Duluth, which is a very beautiful but rugged, even inhospitable area.
I know what you're thinking. Why would anyone go camping with an eight month pregnant wife. You're right, I was extremely stupid, but that's not the point of the story.
We camped and enjoyed this wonderful area of the world (to this day it was one of my favorite vacations ever). Now, to add insult to being stupid, we had an old, unreliable car. But you know what, in our defense everyone our age did back then. As we were coming south out of the small town of Two Harbors our car started jerking violently and making the most hellish kind of noise.
Have you ever been in such a situation? You know that you're totally screwed, but you're trying to maintain some sort of presence of mind. But, in the end, you know you are screwed. Every rational thought that you should have considered earlier runs through your head; why am I camping with an eight month pregnant wife?; why am I driving an unreliable vehicle?; why am I asking myself these stupid questions? Okay, I immediately knew I was stupid and irresponsible, but the fact is I needed to do something to fix this.
To complicate things just a little (or a lot), this was at a time when most people did not have universal credit cards; no VISA, MasterCard, nothing like that. And if you haven't already thought I was being stupid, get this; I had no cash with me!
So there we were, along side a northern road, no car, no credit car, no money, and an eight month pregnant wife. How many can say they have been in that situation?
Well, to cut to the chase, a wonderful man (old and grizzly like everyone up there seemed to be) stopped and picked us up. Oh, did I mention it was Friday night where even the back woods guys like to go out and have fun? Well, this kindly man took us all the way to Duluth, which was about a half hour away. I could say he was our angel, but that would be too simple. Well, maybe he was in a sense, but not the primary angel we met that night.
As I said, we didn't have a universal credit card, but we did have a Mobil card. No money to our name, but we had a Mobil card. The kindly man took us to the first Mobil station he could find.
It was late afternoon and the station was getting ready to close. We talked to a mechanic about 25 years old, and he made it clear he had a party to get to that night. "What's our choices?" we asked. "You'll probably have to spend the weekend'" he said.
Bummer. Suddenly we realized the value of money. What would we do over the weekend in a strange city with no money and an eight month pregnant wife? I know, I already accepted the fact that I was stupid.
Well, this young mechanic was not without sympathy. He took the tow truck and went and retrieved our car. This took about 90 minutes at a time when he was wanting to quit work for the night. Then he spent about twenty minutes looking at the car and determined our universal joint had fallen apart. You don't need to understand what that is other than to know our car was inoperable. He said even if he wanted to he couldn't get replacement parts until Monday. He wished us luck and then left for his party.
We often think about what we would do if we were destitute, but most of us have never experienced that situation. My wife and I went and sat on the curb, with nowhere to go, nothing to eat, not even able to make a phone call (no cell phones back then). Few people will understand what goes through a person's mind at a time like that, but in addition to the obvious crisis we were in, I had those tormenting thoughts of having failed my family. My first child may be born on a street curb in Duluth! It was scary and humiliating, but there was nothing we could do. Can you imagine that? There was nothing we could do! In this modern era we could not even make a phone call!
We sat and talked. It was, in an odd sense, a bonding time. My wife could have chastised me, as well she should have, but she didn't. We talked, we discussed options (of which there were none), and even allowed ourselves to laugh at our stupidity. And then he returned!
A very modest pick up truck pulled into the station lot, and out jumped the young mechanic. He had shaved, showered, put on quite a lot of cologne, and was definitely ready for a party. Keep in mind this was another 90 minutes later.
He seemed exuberant. "Hey, I swung by a junk yard on my way home, and I found the part you need. I think I can fix this in just a few minutes." And he did just that. Of course it was a messy job, so even though he had cleaned up, he got grease and grit all over him. In about twenty minutes he was done.
Unbelievable! Totally unbelievable! But there is still more. When he finished and tallied up the bill, he told us it came to $35. Now granted this was a few years ago, but not that many. He towed our car thirty miles, went to find a replacement part, and then fixed the problem, all on a Friday night when he was suppose to be at a party. Trust me, even in 1982 that was worth much more than $35.
I was dumbfounded. I wanted to do something special to show my gratitude; maybe give him a big tip, buy him some good whiskey for his party, anything at all. But the fact was, I simply had nothing to give. We offered our most sincere appreciation and then returned safely home.
I never saw or heard from that young man again, and I never even knew his name. He was just a grease monkey on a Friday night in the late fall of 1982, but he helped us more than anyone can imagine. It's possible that he even kept us safe and protected my first baby.
Was this an angel? Some would say no, he was just a nice man. Well, I don't know what an angel is, but this young man deserves angel status in my book. I hope somewhere along the way his kindness has been returned many times over.
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