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 submitted
by Darby Blanchfield
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 flyer 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.
Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on
his bad leg. He lay 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 okay? 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 as 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 spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and
scarred hand to Carl.. As he helped Carl get up, the 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 wonderful as you can. We will
never forget Carl and his garden.'
The following spring another flyer went up. It read: 'Person
needed to care for Carl's garden.'
The flyer 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 flyer. '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, and
became a prominent member of the community. But he never
forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as
wonderful 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.
We influence people every day by the example we set
through our actions. Sometimes we are conscious about these
actions and sometimes we're not. How about this? Consciously
choose one action that you can do today to make a wonderful
day for someone else?
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