Monday, May 12, 2008
Carl
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big
smile and a firm handshake.
Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really
say they knew him very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of
him walking down the street often worried us.
He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.
Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make
it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random
violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flier at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for
the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally
happened.
He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members
approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked,
'Would you like a drink from the hose?'
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, 'Yeah, sure,'
with a malevolent little smile.
As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him
down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its
way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then
fled.
Car l tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He l
ay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.
Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get
there fast enough to stop it.
'Carl, are you ok? Are you hurt?' the minister kept asking as he
helped Carl to his feet.
Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. 'Just
some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday.'
His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He
adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.
Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, 'Carl, what are you
doing?' 'I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry
lately,' came the calm reply.
Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only
marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just a s before their threat was
unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.
This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.
When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the
street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the
hilarity of what they had just done.
Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up
his hose, and went on with his watering.
The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when he was
startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell
into some evergreen branches.
As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his
summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected
attack.
'Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time.'
The young man s poke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to
Carl. As he helped Carl g et up, t he man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket
and handed it to Carl.
'What's this?' Carl asked. 'It's your stuff,' the man
explained. 'It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.'
'I don't understand,' Carl said. 'Why would you help me
now?'
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. 'I learned
something from you,' he said. 'I ran with that gang and hurt people
like you we picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it But
every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting
back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept
showing love against our hate.'
He stopped
for a moment. 'I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is
back.'
He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say.
'That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I
guess.' And with that, he walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out
his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he
checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that
still smiled back at him from all those years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his
funeral in spite of the weather.
In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting
quietly in a distant corner of the church.
The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.
In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, 'Do your best and make
your garden as beautiful a s you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.'
The following spring another flier went up. It read: 'Person needed to
care for Carl's garden.'
The flier went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock
was heard at the minister's office door.
Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding
the flier. 'I believe this is my job, if you'll have me,' the young
man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen
watch and wallet to Carl
He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister
handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, 'Yes, go take care of
Carl's garden and honor him.'
The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers
and vegetables just as Carl had done.
During that time, he went to college , got married, an d became a prominent
member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and
kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.
One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for
the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, 'My wife
just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday.'
'Well, congratulations!' said the minister, as he was handed the
garden shed keys. 'That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?'
'Carl,' he replied.
smile and a firm handshake.
Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really
say they knew him very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of
him walking down the street often worried us.
He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.
Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make
it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random
violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flier at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for
the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally
happened.
He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members
approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked,
'Would you like a drink from the hose?'
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, 'Yeah, sure,'
with a malevolent little smile.
As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him
down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its
way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then
fled.
Car l tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He l
ay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.
Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get
there fast enough to stop it.
'Carl, are you ok? Are you hurt?' the minister kept asking as he
helped Carl to his feet.
Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. 'Just
some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday.'
His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He
adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.
Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, 'Carl, what are you
doing?' 'I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry
lately,' came the calm reply.
Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only
marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just a s before their threat was
unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.
This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water.
When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the
street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the
hilarity of what they had just done.
Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up
his hose, and went on with his watering.
The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when he was
startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell
into some evergreen branches.
As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his
summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected
attack.
'Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time.'
The young man s poke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to
Carl. As he helped Carl g et up, t he man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket
and handed it to Carl.
'What's this?' Carl asked. 'It's your stuff,' the man
explained. 'It's your stuff back. Even the money in your wallet.'
'I don't understand,' Carl said. 'Why would you help me
now?'
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. 'I learned
something from you,' he said. 'I ran with that gang and hurt people
like you we picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it But
every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting
back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept
showing love against our hate.'
He stopped
for a moment. 'I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is
back.'
He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say.
'That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I
guess.' And with that, he walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out
his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he
checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that
still smiled back at him from all those years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his
funeral in spite of the weather.
In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting
quietly in a distant corner of the church.
The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.
In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, 'Do your best and make
your garden as beautiful a s you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden.'
The following spring another flier went up. It read: 'Person needed to
care for Carl's garden.'
The flier went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock
was heard at the minister's office door.
Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding
the flier. 'I believe this is my job, if you'll have me,' the young
man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen
watch and wallet to Carl
He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister
handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, 'Yes, go take care of
Carl's garden and honor him.'
The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers
and vegetables just as Carl had done.
During that time, he went to college , got married, an d became a prominent
member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and
kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.
One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for
the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, 'My wife
just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday.'
'Well, congratulations!' said the minister, as he was handed the
garden shed keys. 'That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?'
'Carl,' he replied.
