My Dad is My Hero
On our way home from church last night, my parents and I came across something we don’t see every day (or night, rather): A Jeep was stalled on the other side of the intersection, right where we needed to go. Not only that, but it was stalled on an incline leading up to railroad tracks. A lone man was trying to push it up and over but, needless to say, nothing was happening.
A red light prevented us from crossing the intersection, so we sat there discussing alternate routes. “Just go help him push, Dad!” I urged. “You’ll be my hero!”
My dad was reluctant to be my hero. “I’m an old man,” he protested. “I’d throw my back out.”
“Oh, honey,” said my mom. “Just go offer to help. It’d be worth a try, just to be Wendy’s hero.”
The light turned green. Cautiously my dad crossed the intersection, veered into oncoming lane, passed up the Jeep and parked on the side of the road just ahead. In less than five minutes, the good deed was done and another truck showed up for towing duty.
The two guys in the Jeep turned out to be a couple of Hispanics, so not only was my dad a good Samaritan who saved the day (or night, rather), but he also played a small yet significant part of spreading goodwill and unity among the races of man. I bet you had no idea you were accomplishing all that with just a few grunts and shoves, huh Dad? (It’s a good thing I’m around to point out these things.)
Way to go, Dad!
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