REMEMBERED
BY ACTIONS
--------------------------
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.
I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged
but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked
green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display
of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and
new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation
between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy
next to me.
'Hello Barry, how are you today?'
'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas.
They sure look good.'
'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.
'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'
'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'
'All I got's my prize marble here.'
'Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.
'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'
'I
can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and
I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?'
the store owner asked.
'Not
zackley but almost.'
'Tell
you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and your next
trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller
told the boy.
'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help
me.
With
a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our
community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just
loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or
whatever.
When
they come back with their red marbles, and they always do,
he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them
home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange
one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'
I
left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.
A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot
the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.
Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in
that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr.
Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening
and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany
them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet
the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words
of comfort we could.
Ahead
of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform
and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white
shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs.
Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.
Each
of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke
briefly with her and Moved on to the casket. Her misty light
blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped
briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand
in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his
eyes.
Our
turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded
her of the story from those many years ago and what she had
told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her
eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.
'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told
you about.
They
just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded'
them.. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about
colour or size... they came to pay their debt.'
'We've
never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided,
'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man
in Idaho...'
With
loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased
husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined
red marbles.
The
Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but
by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we
take, but by the moments that take our breath. |