Growing up a city boy, county life was a foreign world to me
as a kid.
When I was 16 my grandfather was trusting enough to let me
drive his truck to town to pick up some things for my grandmother at the
grocery store by myself.
When I asked for the keys, he told me they were over the
visor on the driver’s side. It was a great truck, but he only used it for
hauling stuff and farm chores so most the time we rode in his IH Travelall Which
was considered the Chevy Suburban of the day.
I returned with his truck feeling proud and invincible, an
hour later and as I handed him keys mentioned I noticed he was low on gas. He
thanked me and asked that I would just put the keys back over the visor.
I then cautioned him about car thieves and reminded him he
did live just a few miles from the Federal Prison. He thanked but said the old
truck would be fine. I did as he asked and even offered to wash his truck but
he said he’d get to soon enough.
On Saturday afternoon we stepped outside of their house to
find the truck gone. “Grandpa someone stole your truck” I said the second I
stepped off the front porch. But he just smiled telling me no one stole the
truck somebody just borrowed it.
Truth was, he had no idea who borrowed his truck or if we’d
ever see it again.
We returned from dinner the truck was still missing, I
implored to call the police, but he insisted the truck would return.
The next morning, much to my surprise, there was a yellow
Ford 100 in the driveway, and it was freshly washed. Not only was it washed it
also had a full tank of gas and yet he had no idea who borrowed his truck, and that
fact did not concern him in least.
Now forty-so-years later my grandfather is of course gone.
Yet his trusting manner, and generosity live on in my own life. Even in a world
that sometimes seems overloaded with crime and criminals I’m tempted to leave
the keys in the truck just because.
So, if you borrow it I’d appreciate it if you’d bring it
back washed and full of gas. Thank you whoever you are.
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