Faith in Humanity

The other night we headed down to the dock with armfuls of lifejackets for a post-dinner, pre-sunset pontoon ride; a family favorite. As we rounded the last leg of our slow cruise, the pontoon suddenly died. My husband and brother-in-law sheepishly hypothesized an empty gas tank while my mother-in-law shook her head in mock exasperation, having asked repeatedly about fuel levels the last few days.

One of us half-jokingly called out “help”, which sent the six and nine year-olds into nervous whimpers. But I couldn’t have felt more calm. Perhaps the anxiety was buffered by that extra glass of sauvignon blanc, but more likely the fact that it was a holiday weekend and I knew our fellow lake neighbors were plentiful; in yards enjoying a late dinner on blue-flowered paper plates, or bobbing on the waves in pontoons like we were.

A kind gentleman came down to his dock to keep us from crashing, just as another pontoon approached. After generously sharing their emergency two gallon gas tank, the collective determined it wasn’t a fuel issue and we just needed a tow back to our place. Friendly arms reached across and held on to side-by-side pontoon seats; a floating caravan of giggles and shared stories of lake history and home towns.

We waved goodbye in the now darkness, having gained a new set of friendly faces and a story to add to the family reserves. After a new battery was secured, we dutifully delivered payment cases of Coors Light and White Claw the next day and thanked our new friends- grateful for their unhesitating willingness to bail us out and joked that if it happened to them, we’d be there.

Halfway back home today, our long weekend punctuated by a carful of damp towels and recycling, my morning coffee necessitated a pitstop. As we pulled up to Casey’s gas station in Blaine, my son jumped out of the back- grateful for the stop as well. Drying my hands, I stepped out of the restroom to see someone closing the men’s room door carefully.

A burly man in a leather biker jacket and piercing green eyes threw his hand up in a warm innocence- “Don’t worry”, he said, “I’m not a creeper”. I smiled and quickly noted that we need to add ‘locking the door in a gas station bathroom’ to the list of six-year-old life skills training.

The kind man felt the need to further explain his ‘non-creeper’ status by sharing that he has four kids, and just celebrated his 30 year wedding anniversary. While we waited and chatted I learned that besides the anniversary trip to Florida, he just walked his oldest down the aisle last week, and that tragically one of his children didn’t make it past 20. (And yes, at this point I realized that getting my kid a bit more fiber might help speed up this process.)

After reminding Auggie to go back and wash his hands, my new biker/teddybear friend looked at me and said, “I’d choose it all again too. In a heartbeat.” As tears budded in both our eyes, I fought the urge to hug him, settling instead for a hearty wave next to the Slim Jim endcap. “God bless you- have a good day”, he said, waving back and turning into the restroom. “Bless you too!”, I called, thankful to be in the right place at the right time for such a delightful interlude.

Both our boat-towing new friends and my Casey’s gas station buddy renewed my faith in humanity. Not that I’d lost it, but between tragic stories from family of dear friends and horrific parade shooters on the news, I relished the reminder that people are in general, good people.

Even now as I write, curled on a soft chair on the deck; my favorite spot in the entire house, I am still emboldened by these connections. Of course my writing time is interrupted shortly by Charly requesting a ride home from a hangout and Auggie needing an early dinner before karate.
But you know what? I’d chose it all again too.

*** I’ve taken a hiatus from my non-fiction book a week quest and instead am devouring fiction and memoir. My favorite this week was inspired by a Jen Hatmaker podcast. The Middle Place by Kelly Corrigan is consuming and funny. Written in 2008, I can’t believe I’m just now getting to it. Her writing makes me want to be a better writer.