Sometimes it’s the small things that matter most
7-22-13
Years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One night, I had a late pick up. Many drivers just honk once or twice, wait a minute then, drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. I honked, then went to the door after a few minutes, and knocked.
“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.
“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab then, returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”
“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address then, asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice. I don’t have any family left, and the doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, a small convalescent home. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They were expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers.” Without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand then, walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run? You know, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware— disguised as the little things. by Kent Nerburn
Go ahead – touch a life, make a positive difference… you’ll be glad you did!
The greatest gifts you can give your children are the roots of responsibility and the wings of independence. — Denis Waitley
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Thanks for the share, WK!
