Walking off Thanksgiving

I’ve been thinking about “Ernie” lately. When the kids were growing up, I drove them everywhere. To and from school, to after-school activities and field trips, to weekend sporting events, overnights, etc.  You name it, I was the driver. First of all, I was more than a bit paranoid about who they rode with.

And secondly, I learned early on that kids in the two backseats of a big old Suburban forget that there is an adult driving the car. Suddenly you became invisible and totally deaf. You just weren’t in the car. It was fabulous – one of my best mom tricks. Because once they forgot you were there and as long as you didn’t open your mouth, they started talking. About everything under the sun. Boys, girls, boys and girls together, teachers, principals and coaches, sex, alcohol, and drugs. Good ways to get around your parents’ rules and curfews – what worked on what parents. Who snuck out on Saturday night. You know – the good stuff. The more kids in the car, the better. I was the best informed mom in town. It also helped that I might have been the only mom in the neighborhood who provided “travel snacks” and was always good for a trip to the Donut Shop. Much to my husband’s dismay these goodies were always eaten in the car.  Many kids, much food and a moving car make for quite a mess over time. I didn’t care then and I still don’t clean cars. Just ask him!!

Travel with them long enough, keep your mouth shut long enough, and they eventually start talking about real life, grown-up stuff. “We need to cheer Mary up. Her Mom just got diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ll call her tonight. You ask her to spend the night on Friday.” “Sam got cut from the baseball team. Want to go with him to try out for American Legion ball so we can still play together?” “We’re doing Samaritan’s Purse stuff at EYC Sunday, want to come?” “If you had to vote in this election who would you vote for? Really? Tell me why.” And so on. Issue after issue would come up and sometimes the conversations would pick up again on the next carpool trip. That’s how I found out about “Ernie”.

Riding through the neighborhood one hot, hot summer day on our way to the pool, one of the girls pointed out a young black man, maybe in his late twenties, walking down the side of the road with way too many clothes on for such a hot day. She commented that she had noticed him walking around the neighborhood a lot and wondered where he was going. The consensus of the group was that he must be walking to and from work.

A couple days later, as we headed to an evening baseball game, we spotted the young man walking again, only in the other direction. The kids again contemplated where he had been and where he was going. This happened over and over for many weeks. Come fall, the kids had named him “Ernie” and we discovered that his path was pretty consistent. After winning a fall soccer game, I took the group to a fast food spot for a celebratory dinner. There was “Ernie” working in the kitchen. We found “Ernie” working in several fast food spots over the next year or so. The kids got so they noticed when he was missing from his regular route and wondered if he was sick or had moved away. Then several days later, “Ernie” would be back where we expected to see him and all was well again. 

Riding home one afternoon, we spotted “Ernie” trudging down the road in the pouring rain with no raincoat and no umbrella. He was drenched. The kid noise took on a new rumble, and soon, my daughter’s voice rose above the usual cacophony. “Mom, we all have umbrellas in this car. Is one of Dad’s raincoats in here somewhere?” I replied, “You have got to be kidding, Dad thinks this car is a dumpster. Do you really think he’d leave anything he cared about in here?” “Well, then just turn around and go offer “Ernie” a ride or give him an umbrella.” As my mind clicked, “Yes, thanks be to God, she did listen!” I turned the car around. We stopped beside “Ernie”. I got out of the car, introduced myself and offered him a ride. He appeared to be really frightened, like a child who had done something wrong and knew he was in trouble. As I spoke to him, I realized that he probably fell somewhere on the autism spectrum. As he sort of cowered and refused the offer of a ride, I handed him an umbrella that one of the kids proffered through the window. He tried to give it back. I told him that the children in the car wanted him to have it. That it would hurt their feelings if he refused. He nodded and took the umbrella.  As I climbed inside the car, the children expressed their upset that “Ernie” had to keep walking in the rain. I tried to explain that “Ernie” had some communication difficulties and that he was trying to follow the rules, much as they had “stranger rules” to follow. That it was hard for him to take the umbrella.  They seemed to understand that – although there was a bit of conversation about the fact that they didn’t know “grown-ups” had stranger rules, too. This thought sort of disturbed them even as it comforted them.

Years passed. The kids grew up, went to college, got jobs, got advanced degrees, got married and had children. Twenty-five years later, the girls and I were pushing a stroller full of my first granddaughter as we walked off Thanksgiving lunch, when they spotted “Ernie” on the same beaten path. They were amazed that he was still around. I commented, “Well, you are still around, aren’t you?” They asked, “Is he really still marching the same path every day?” “Yes,” I replied. “His world has changed little even though your lives have moved to different places his is sort of stuck in time.” “That’s not such a bad thing,” they said simultaneously. “They were really happy days.” This mother’s heart soared.

I actually saw "Ernie" today marching on the same path.  His hair is gray now and he walks a bit slower, but he seems to be his same old self.  It was strangely comforting.

Can you capture a moment in time when you did a mental break dance because your children proved to you that they really did “get” it?