Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big
smile and a firm handshake, but even after living in our neighborhood for over
50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well. All we really knew
was he had worked for the Gas Company and had won an award when he retired for
never having taken a sick day in all his 51 years with the company.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. As his retirement
approached and he grew older, the lone sight of him walking down the street
often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. The
bullet itself was still lodged very near his spine. 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. How could we have known that a Miracle limped in our midst?
Carl was in his early 70's when he began what was to be a 15 plus years job of
caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence. He was then retired and
his wife had died a few years earlier. When he saw the flyer at our local church
asking for volunteers, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner.
Without fanfare, he just signed up to do the weeding, watering and seeding of
flowers and vegetables that were planted each spring. 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 form 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 as he tried unsuccessfully to fend them off.
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. Thankfully, things had been quiet and
uneventful. Carl was doing some tilling and getting the rose beds ready for
their winter mulch protection 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
tormenters 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 then, 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, and then put the photo back
in its place. He pocketed his billfold once again and went back to mulching his
roses.
He didn't make it to the following spring to see those roses bloom again. 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 beautiful as you
can. We will never forget Carl and his garden."
The following spring, as the ice thawed in the yard, 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. In that time, he went to college, got married
and became a prominent businessman in the community. But he never forgot his
promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful 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 our baby last night, and she's coming home Saturday."
"Well, congratulations!" Said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed
keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"
It was Carl.
Author unknown. If anyone has a proprietary interest in this story please
authenticate and I will be happy to credit, or remove, as the circumstances
dictate.
Send by Bob GrampsTN@aol.com
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