Everyone Has a Million Stories

For me, that is what makes it all so interesting. I love stories, fiction or 'true'. Our stories become truer as we relate them. Yesterday, our new fried George had a grueling day. George is in his mid-eighties. He was here in Nica with the Peace Corps when he was seventy. He came back for a visit last week and is staying with us. His grueling day was caused by his best friend loosing her shit on him.

It is my observation that a lot of gringos loose their bearings here if they stay too long or don't have a grounding influence in their lives. Especially women. Especially women who decide to help others and then feel used. This can be a crushing experience. Especially women who use up their 'nut' helping others and then find themselves alone when their health or their money runs out. Al this seems to be happening to George's friend.

Perhaps this happens more than I know in our country. I do know that it doesn't happen in Nicaraguan for Nicaraguans. There are no 'homes' here for elderly or sick. The family and God are the two highest priorities. Practically every front door has a granny sitting in the breeze, living out her days. It is hard to have an old sick person around all the time, but here it is the right thing to do and it gets done. Knowing this will be passed on when your turn comes is the best insurance anyone can have.

Last night, George was pretty devastated by the actions and condition of his old friend. She got very mad at him and then left him angry. Our conversation worried the subject for a while. Then George started to tell a few stories from his past, the good stories. I liked that. He was lamenting a bit how we are missing neighborliness in these days, but he was also working to bring back our faith in good.

He left home in Dallas right before he was sixteen to go to work in a processing plant. This was during the depression and work and food were hard to come by. He was the oldest of three boys who heard one day that they were hiring in Waco for a construction job. The boys got up at four AM and hitch hiked all day only to be rejected at the job site for their youth and inexperience. They had no choice but to turn around and hitch home.

There was little traffic because there were few people who could afford gas. Finally a man with a hay truck picked them up and had them bury themselves in the hay to keep warm. Sadly he wasn't going very far. He gave them a ride to the tiny Texas town where he lived and left them off near a diner. Between the three of them, they had $.25. The diner was about to close but there was still a customer , a farmer, sitting in the corner. The boys went to the counter and read the posted menu. There was stew and bread for twenty-five cents. The one kid ordered one. When the otherrs were asked what they wanted, they said they weren't hungry. (They only hadn't eaten or drunk for 28 hours at that point).

The owner said "One stew, one bread, coming up." He went to the kitchen and brought out the big pot of stew that was left from the day and a loaf of bread. He put out three bowls and said "This is my $.25 special. The boys ate the whole loaf of bread and cleaned out the pot. Then the farmer came by the counter and asked them where they were sleeping. They said they were going to hitch and sleep by the road. The farmer said no one would be driving so later, but a freight train came by and went into a siding every night to let a passenger train go by. He gave them each a gallon of water and drove them to the train siding and they got to Dallas by early morning.

Good story , George. He said it was like that everywhere during the Great Depression and even more so during WW11. People had each others backs. I love that picture, and I loved the warm glow we all felt as we went to bed.