My First Rodeo

by Stoney Stamper

  I expect that at one time he was quite a handsome man. He had a strong jaw, despite his small frame. I remember watching my papa wither away as his Alzheimer’s took him away from us. At one time, he was six feet, two inches and weighed 240 pounds. When he died, he was probably five feet, five inches and half of that weight. Judging from this gentleman’s big hands, I assumed that this was probably the case for him as well. I was immediately drawn to him. It had been three years since my papa died, and I missed him terribly.

  The old man crossed his legs, yet another thing he did that reminded me of my grandfather. “Nice day out, isn’t it?” He smiled at me, and I smiled back. “Yes, sir, it’s a nice one,” I replied. “Supposed to get up to eighty-five degrees today.” He seemed to close his eyes and take in as much of the sunshine as possible. I had been drinking a cup of coffee and had finished it. I gently stood up and, with the assistance of my cane, limped over to the trash can about ten feet away. He said, “You’re an awful young man to have a limp like that.” I laughed and replied, “Yes, sir. About six months ago, I was in a pretty serious car accident. Broke and dislocated my hip, broke my arm, broke a bone in my back, blew out my knee. It was a pretty bad deal.” The look of concern on his face was sincere. “My goodness, son. That sounds awful.” I showed him a picture of my truck after my accident, sitting in the middle of the road, looking like a crunched Coke can. “Wow. My goodness, my goodness. You’re lucky to be alive, I’d say. The good Lord had his hand on you. That’s the only way you made it out of that deal alive.” I nodded silently, having heard that now for the thousandth time since November 8, 2017.

  It can be hard to look at the last six months of my family’s life and think about how the Lord has had his hand on us. Since my wreck and injuries, if it could go wrong, it went wrong. The devil can be such a convincing manipulator. He works on us constantly to make us doubt. He prompts questions like Where was your God when you were having the wreck? Why didn’t he save you from that? I’ll be honest, I’ve asked myself that many times now. But I’m constantly reminded that I could just as easily be dead.

  I was brought back to the present when the old man said, “I was working for a logging company in 1957. A chain broke on a truck we’d just loaded, and one of the logs hit me from behind. Broke my back. I had a wife and a one-year-old son at home, and we didn’t have any money. I wasn’t able to work for six months or so. The church would gather up some money for us every few weeks, and that just barely fed us. We lived in a little two-bedroom house in Henderson, and the landlord was kind to us and let us pay the rent when we could. It was a tough time. Took me a long time to get back to where I could get back out to the logging camp. We ate a lot of beans for a few years.” He laughed after he said that last sentence.

  I said, “Well, I was lucky, I suppose. I had several fellow employees donate their vacation time to me so that I could continue to get a paycheck. And then when I’d gone through all that, I had some short-term disability benefits that kicked in and paid me until I could get back to work.”

  He looked at me with an almost-curt look and said, “Not lucky, son. Blessed. I don’t like the word luck. You’ve been blessed to have these things. You have a family?” I replied, “Yes, sir. I have three daughters and a wife.” He smiled, “That’s quite a houseful of women.” We both laughed. He said, “I had a wife and a son. My son lives in Atlanta. Some big highfalutin job. Makes a bunch of money. He’s divorced, has a daughter and a son. I usually get to see them about once a year. Bert died in 2009.” I looked at him and asked, “Bert?” He said, “Roberta. My wife.” I nodded my head, silent again. Unsure of exactly what to say. He filled the silence and said, “I’ve got kidney cancer. Can you believe that?” Surprised, I said, “Oh no…really?” He nodded his head. “Yep. Diagnosed me with it last month. Said it’s spreading. Gave me about six months to live. Nine if I’m fortunate.”

  I found myself almost in tears for this man I’d just met. I was having trouble finding the words. He looked at me and grinned. “Now, don’t go getting sad on me. That ain’t why I told you that. After my accident, it took a while, but I got better and was able to live a long, good life. I’m old now. All my family is gone. My brother died several years ago, and then Bert. I’m not sad, so don’t you be either. I get to go see my girl,” he said, followed by an almost-childish giggle. Few times in my life have I been rendered utterly speechless, but this was one of those times. Since my accident, I’ve had such a hard time. But this wonderful little old man at the car wash had just rocked my world with his simple yet powerful words. I looked at him, an old man near the end of his life, sitting in the sunshine with a grin on his face. He has no fear of the end because he knows it’s not the end, but the beginning. I never needed that man’s message to me more than I needed it that day. The timing could not have been more perfect.

  I heard a loud whistle and looked up to see the man who’s been cleaning my vehicle, waving a towel above his head letting me know that my truck was finished. I looked over at the old man, and I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to sit and talk to him for hours. He stuck his hand out and said, “It was a pleasure talking to you. I hope that limp gets better soon. But I’ve got faith that it will.” I was still struggling to find the words. I grinned at him with tears in my eyes, grabbed his hand, and said, “The pleasure has been all mine, sir. You’ll be in my prayers. And I can’t wait for you to see Bert.” His smile could not have been any bigger. He said, “Me too, son. Me too. What a great day that’s going to be.” I knew that if I tried to say anything else, I’d probably break down and cry. I nodded at him; he nodded back at me. I turned and headed toward my truck. I tipped the gentleman who had been cleaning my truck, hopped in, and the tears began to flow. I grabbed a tissue out of the console and began to dry my eyes. How lucky I had been to meet this amazing old man, on the very day I needed it so much. No, I reminded myself. Not lucky. Blessed.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my parents, brothers, and sisters for loving me even when I was pretty hard to love and showing me how strong relationships are supposed to be.

  Catherine, Marla, and Do South Magazine, for giving me my big break and teaching me to be a better writer along the way.

  John, thanks for believing in a greenhorn wannabe writer, and thank you for the guidance from start to finish.

  My loyal fans, thank you for loving my family and giving us this amazing opportunity.