Preparing my son, Tim, for college has been an exciting, sometimes exhausting, process that has included driving to Troy University twice: once for a music scholarship audition and second for an academic/leadership interview that included a day of seminars. On the second trip, I detoured to my mother's house so she could accompany us to Troy. We planned a beautiful outing: in the car, Mama and I would simply enjoy each other's company remembering Tim's childhood and anticipating a grand future. Once in Troy, we would drop Timothy off at the student center, and then she and I could look around the bookstore, enjoy a Starbucks coffee, and eat lunch at a notorious Chinese restaurant in town.
The day began early. Tim's activities started at 8:30 a.m., so we left Mama's house at 4:30 a.m. I chuckled at Tim, dressed in his suit, wincing at the thought of wearing a tie all day. Mom asked, "Are you sure you don't want to take my car?" I told her no because I didn't want to put mileage on her new vehicle. I soon regretted that decision.
The wet, cold February morning chilled me to the bone, as we say in the south. When I saw Mama shiver, I adjusted the heat dial, and then discovered that the heat wasn't working. By the time we stopped for breakfast, the inside of my car felt colder than it was outside. Confused, I contemplated calling my husband to ask him what could be causing the problem, but I decided not to wake him so early. When we finished eating, we resumed our trek to Troy hoping for the best.
Just outside Camden, Alabama (about two hours away from Troy), my car's engine started running hot. In fact, the gauge read as high as it could. I could hear my husband's voice in my head. "If the car ever does that, pull off to the side of the road and call me." Mama reiterated this directive, so as soon as we could, we pulled over. While Mama called my dad, I walked to the back of the car and prayed very simply, "Help us, Lord. I have to get this boy to his interview." My son, ever the calm problem solver, stood beside the car, almost thinking aloud. We had only been there for a matter of minutes when a man in a white truck, Kenny Massengale, pulled over to check on us.
Mama told him who we were and where we were headed. As it turns out, he and Mama were raised in the same part of Alabama and graduated from the same high school, a little more than twenty years apart. He introduced himself, and he and Mama compared notes about people they both knew. As they talked, Kenny removed the radiator cap. A thick, gray substance had risen to the top of the radiator, which Kenny confirmed shouldn't be there. He retrieved two water bottles from his lunch box and poured them into the radiator. I had a bottle of water in the car, so he added that. That was enough to get the car to a gas station, but the engine was still running hot.
What Kenny said next still shocks me each time I think about it: "Well, what you have to do is take my truck to Troy. I know a man who can look at the car while you're there, and you can pick it up on the way back." Probably noting my facial expression, he continued, "I would trust him with my cars." To say that the whole situation felt surreal doesn't give it justice. I had met this man less than an hour before, and he is loaning me his vehicle for a two hour trip to Troy and a two hour trip back? Who does that? "We know too many of the same people," he explained.
I left my keys in the ignition at the garage he suggested, and we then drove Kenny to his home. As we exchanged phone numbers, I marveled at how trusting he was of us. While Mama drove (I was too chicken), I looked closely at the truck--a beautiful vehicle worth a great deal more than my five-year old Camry, but I most appreciated that the radio station was set on a classical music station, which calmed me. When I finally called my husband, his reaction was similar to what mine had been. He simply asked, "He did WHAT?" followed by "You're kidding me."
Tim called his contact at Troy to explain that he would be late. They were very kind, and when we finally arrived, I chuckled at how much Tim enjoyed the attention of the young ladies who were "so glad" he made it. Mama and I went to Starbucks, shopped in the bookstore, and enjoyed our Chinese buffet lunch. After Tim's interview, we headed back, still awestruck at Kenny's kindness.
The event reminded me of the "Good Samaritan" bible story. Although I have been the recipient of good deeds and kind acts before, this was different. First, Kenny didn't know who we were when he stopped. He saw two women and a suit-clad young man on the side of the road and consciously made a decision to stop. He had had just finished a shift at his work, so he must have been tired. Second, the "people" connection between Kenny and my mother was predicated on the character of many people I have never met. I saw first-hand the trickle down effect of treating folks well whenever possible. Finally, the event marked the beginning of my son's collegiate career. My hope is that he will always remember it, and choose to be grateful.
