All I can picture is a little classic yellow truck and man named Jake that I met last summer. He's standing on his piece of Alberta prairie, surrounded by his 3 children.
A little mobile home serves as shelter for his family, while he spends his days working the land. Desperately trying to make a living as a new immigrant to Canada, he supports his children and sick wife.
I start walking faster, finally reaching my building. The stairs seem to have grown steeper and taller, but finally I reach the third floor. I push my key into the lock, burst through the door and throw myself onto my bed in tears.
The Chevy had been something of a miracle. My poppa and I had gone out 'picking'- searching for a needle in a haystack- and one man's golden treasure. As we pulled into the yard, I knew in my heart that we wouldn't be leaving empty handed.
As with any picking process, much of the experience comes in making the deal and buying right. After much negotiation, a mere $500 separated the buyer and seller.
If I had learned anything from the men in this world, it is that they are masters of painting a 'tough guy' face. Perhaps a result of gender expectations, this hardened shell was completely typical. Poppa was no exception, and his experience as a seasoned businessman meant that his game face was particularly strong.
Poppa and I let the decision incubate while we ate lunch. A few phone calls back and forth made tensions high. Although he was genuinely excited about the truck, he wasn't so sure that the deal could progress further, and the seller wouldn't budge on his price. I couldn't blame him- after all he had been teaching me all along that sometimes walking away from a deal was the best decision a person could make.
We had nearly left town when he turned to me and I asked me if he had made the right call.
I've often been criticized, and criticized myself as being too "soft" and too sympathetic to others. I get caught up in the emotional side of things and can't seem to pass up an opportunity to help someone. In my mind, although $500 was a lot of money, I knew that it meant much more to the farmer than it did to my poppa. The opportunity to help the suffering family made losing the 'upper hand' completely worthwhile, especially by purchasing the truck he had been wishing for for so long.
What happened next was nothing short of a miracle in my eyes. Unveiling a new layer, he pushed his pride aside and reached for his phone. He called Jake and minutes later the deal was final. We met later that day to pay him, and he brought his family along with him. As the men were conversing, I glanced over to Jake's vehicle and to my surprise, I caught the eyes of his wife. She looked up at me and smiled, and although we were separated by physical and cultural distance, I could see the genuine appreciation in her eyes.
A few weekends later I accompanied my poppa to go pick up his 'new' old truck. As he left the farm, he directed me to follow behind in our other vehicle to make sure that the old truck would run safely during our journey back home.
The gravel of rural Alberta slowly transitioned back into the smooth pavement of Highway 3, and as it did, he pulled up beside me and gave me one final nod. I turned on to the highway, and he followed close behind. With tires spinning, and the engine racing, I watched in surprise from my rear view mirror as he pressed on the pedal, hands locked to the steering wheel. The yellow truck flew by, with poppa behind the wheel, and a look so mischievous that even grandma would have been alarmed.
The truth is, the truck was dud. While it appeared sound, once it was taken apart, the body was a complete mess. Totally defeated, the truck was laid to rest and we even joked about holding a memorial for it.
Back in my room at university, I was finished with my 30 second cry. I called my partner and he came and gave me the biggest hug I've ever received. I walked down to Pita Pit and requested my poppa's favorite order, complete with a diet Pepsi.
It's been a long time since we've been to a car show together, or I've felt the excitement of going on a picking expedition.
Perhaps we should have walked away from the deal, leaving the yellow truck with the struggling farmer for someone else to purchase. Eventually, someone would have scooped up the truck and ended up in the same position. Yet as I sat in the library today feeling homesick, I remembered this story and although the memory brought me to tears, the lesson of it made me smile.
The truth is, some of the toughest men (and women) in our lives are eggs. Good eggs, no doubt. But nonetheless, hard on the outside, and gooey inside whether they like to admit it or not. Kind, humble and loving gooey messes, even if they hide it well... And for that I am thankful. I'm glad that I spoke up and my poppa changed his decision before it was too late. The truck may not have been what we were expecting, but that's okay. Although we are not always in the position to help others, sometimes it is clear to us that an open door has appeared to do something kind in whatever capacity we can.
Each and every day, we are presented with a number of opportunities to do great things, and to be role models to others in the process. Sometimes saying "yes" to these opportunities can bring unimaginable blessings to others. It is amazing to imagine how the world might look if people were as passionate about giving as they were about receiving.
Judging by the grin on my poppas face as I watched him flying past in the yellow Chev on that beautiful afternoon,
I think he felt pretty blessed too.
"For what are we born if not to aid one another?"- Ernest Hemingway
