Sunday, October 16, 2011

#6. Isn't Worth Nothin'

The annoying phone rang for the third time in the last hour. Hattie was at the grocery store, so Blaster Jackson (her husband) was stuck with answering the thing. If it wasn't for the hip problems Hattie has been having lately, he'd think seriously about unplugging the noisy phone for most of each day. This time he was glad he answered it, and with just a twinge of courtesy too.

The phone receiver said, “Hi Mr. B. This is Max. You know Max Litton. How you doin'?” “Not too bad, Max. This stormy weather coming in, is sure stirring up my aching bones. But... I guess it's better than never having any pain at all.” Blaster's statement wasn't meant to be a hook, but that's exactly what it did. “Well, how you getting along, young man? And I want to really know. You've been on my mind a whole lot since we had cokes at the lake. I wasn't going to say anything, but I think some tree ants took a shortcut down through my shirt.”

The reason I called, Mr. B, is to tell you how so very much I treasure our time together in your busy schedule. It means a whole lot that you listen to my hurts and don't jump on me for all the stupid choices I've made before. Well, anyhow, I was wonderin' if I could sort-of pay you back by picking up sticks in your yard, or something that'd save you from having to bend over a lot. I could come anytime... anytime I'm not in school.”

Blaster's mind raced to find the answer to the question immediately shouting to his soul. The simple question is why is this troubled teen, full of pain in his spirit and soul, caring about my aching back muscles? Is pain (in any form) some kind of magnet that draws two quite different generations together? Is there some kind of two-way compassion going on. Is pain some kind of language that needs no alphabet or polished grammar?

Almost without testing the thought, Mr. B. asked the 16 yr old Max. “Max. I was just wondering. Some of us older people are taring apart old computers and using the parts to make teaching toolkits for missionaries. And we've got 32 old computers that need to be taken apart. Maybe, if you were free next Saturday, you'd like to help us. I'd provide the transportation, and I'll bet I could find a pizza that needs our taste test. How about it?”

Sounds fantastic!” was the reply in the phone receiver. The silver-haired coal mine blaster felt like it was his birthday, and he was about to open the biggest best present of them all. Little did he realize that orange hair was to be part of that present.

Saturday morning promised to be a bright sun-shiny day. Blaster Jackson was just finishing loading some needed tools in Nothin'. Around the garage rode Max Litton, pulled to a stop and almost dropped his bike. But right behind him was another boy in his middle teens, with orange hair the color of beautiful Autumn leaves.

Mr. B. When I started telling Duke here, about how great I feel when you listen to me, he said right away, he wanted to come along, and just maybe, you'd let him help us with the computer trash.” Blaster didn't know how this was going to wind up, but said, “Great. Get your bikes loaded into Nothin' then we'll be about ready to leave. I'll be able to drop you both off at your homes when we're done.”

Duke always suspected old folks were a little strange – even more than his orange hair, but he asked anyway. “Mr. Jackson, ummm. How do we load our bikes in nothin'?” Blaster smiled at the boy's confusion. “Well, Duke. First off, I'd really prefer you call me Gramps. Second, I named my pickup truck, Nothin'. My wife Hattie always tells me, that ol' rattlin' bucket of rust, isn't worth nothin'. So I decided that's what I'll call it, Nothin'.”

If Gramps could have read the minds of the two teens, he'd hear them thinking they ought to call themselves, Nothin'; I'm a teen not worth nothin'. I'm just a bucket of painful stress not knowing where I'm headed. Duke wondered if God, wherever He is, cares anything about orange hair. Maybe when He looks down from heaven, His gaze doesn't get past my orange hair... 'cuz that's sure what people do.