Lessons Just Beyond the Slurpee Machine
As parents, we often wonder– what did I forget to teach them?
The small man crumpled to the floor like Kleenex.
His tanned legs looked like two pencils neatly folded on the tile floor of the 7-11, a five pound bag of ice at his feet.
“Someone help him up. Oh, John... why did you come up here?” the cashier pleaded.
Everyone stared. I walked over to see what help I could offer as the old, disheveled man balanced to his feet. Grabbing the ice, I handed it to my eigtheen-year-old, Matt, unsure of what we were witnessing.
“Let him through ya’ll. He is sick,” the cashier asserted as worry pressed across her forehead.
The elderly man maneuvered to the counter; he reminded me of the Weeble Wobbles I played with as a little girl. Teetering and tottering, he made it the few feet and leaned on the counter for support.
The young family at the front of the line moved out of the way. They stared, speechless.
The cashier went to grab a chair that John aptly refused. Clearly flustered, she said, “Where is your niece? Are you alone? You aren't well enough to walk over here.” My brain surveyed the situation at rapid pace.
“Does he just need someone to pay for the ice?” the father finally asked, as though we were witnessing two, very different scenes.
“He needs to get home, he’s sick,” she repeated. It was more of a plea than a statement. The mother of the family raised her eyebrows.
The cashier looked all around realizing she could not leave the store. My sixteen-year-old, Holden, stepped forward in front of the family. Without hesitation, said,
“I’ve got him. I’ll stand here to make sure he doesn’t fall. I've got him."
I asked the old man gently, “Is there someone I can call to come get you?”
The cashier went to grab a phone, but it was obvious this had happened before, and there was no one to call.
“I live alone,” he whispered.
“He just lives around the corner,” she pleaded. The line behind us grew. The crowd stayed silent.
“My boys will walk him home…. is it safe?” I asked.
“Yes,” she assured us, “Just around the corner.”
Without hesitation, Holden, clutched the old man’s bony hand, supported his arm and helped him take tiny, miniscule shuffle steps towards the glass doors. Matt gingerly held the other elbow as they navigated the door, the curb, and the block walk to the old man’s beach cottage. John’s bony arm in Matt’s one hand, the five pound bag in the other.
I quickly paid our bill, and the cashier now with a long line shared, “He has cancer.”
"I am sorry to hear that," I replied, "my boys will get him there safely."
I threw the groceries in our car, and went to find the kids. When I did, I found my boys gently opening John’s gate- each with an arm. They walked him down the path, helped him to the door and waited until he was safely inside.
Holden walked towards me, and then went back to look to ensure the door had aptly closed and he was safe inside. It reminded me of how I would check on them to ensure they were asleep before closing their nursery doors.
They latched the gate in silence. The breeze from the ocean picked up, and we walked silently back to our car.
As we drove home, my mind raced. My boys– who took turns driving Interstate 95 to go on our last road trip before Matt leaves for college– just jumped in as grown men looked on. My boys who forget to clean their rooms, do the homework, and take out the trash, knew exactly what needed to be done in a moment of need.
As parents, we often wonder– what did I forget to teach them? What do they need to know before they venture off on their own? Are they going to figure it out? Have I done enough?
In that random moment, my boys reminded me that leadership is not a title; it’s about grabbing the ice and an arm when others keep a healthy distance. It’s about holding the hand of a stranger, when you have no clue whose hand you are holding or what you are walking into. It’s about doing what’s right because it tugs at you and the tiny voice in your head screams, move over- we will help.
My guess is we will leave this island after spending quality time lounging in the sand, relaxing in the surf, and laughing over a plate of fried shrimp, but what I will remember is that 7-11 and that actions always speak louder than words.
