| CARL'S GARDEN
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would
always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake.
Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50
years, no one could really say they knew him very
well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each
morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street
often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet
wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that
although he had survived WWII, he may not make it
through our changing uptown neighborhood with its
ever-increasing random violence, gangs and drug activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking
for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the
minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically
unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just signed
up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing
we had always feared finally happened. He was just
finishing his watering for the day when three gang
members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to
intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like
a drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking
of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a
malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose
to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing
him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground,
dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole
his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.
Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown
down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather
himself as the minister came running out to help him.
Although the minister had witnessed the attack from
his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop
it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?"
the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his
feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and signed,
shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope
they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung
to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose.
He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.
Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked,
"Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got
to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately,"
came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl
really was alright, the minister could only marvel.
Carl was a man from a different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before,
their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered
them a drink from his hose. This time they didn't
rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and
drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they
had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered
off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses,
falling over one another laughing at the hilarity
of what they had just done. Carl just watched them.
Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked
up his hose, and went on with his watering.
The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was
doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden
approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell
into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain
his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his
summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced
himself for the expected attack. "Don't worry
old man. I'm not going to hurt you this time."
The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed
and scarred hand to Carl.
As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled
bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. "What's
this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff,"
the man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even
the money in your wallet." "I don't understand,"
Carl said. "Why would you help me now?"
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and
ill at ease. "I learned something from you,"
he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people
like you. We picked you because you were old and we
knew we could do it. But every time we came and did
something to you, instead of yelling and fighting
back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate
us for hating you. You kept showing love against our
hate." He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't
sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back."
He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing
what more there was to say. "That bag's my way
of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess."
And with that, he walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly
opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put
it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked
for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the
young bride that still smiled back at him from all
those years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter.
Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.
In particular, the minister noticed a tall young man
that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner
of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's garden
as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed
tears, he said, "Do you best and make your garden
as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl
and his garden."
The following spring another flyer went up. It read:
"Person needed to care for Carl's garden."
The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners
until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's
office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a
pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer.
"I believe this is my job, if you'll have me,"
the young man said. The minister recognized him as
the same young man who had returned the stolen watch
and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl's kindness had
turned this man's life around. As the minister handed
him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes,
go take care of Carl's garden and honor him."
The man went to work and, over the next several years,
he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl
had done. In that time, he went to college, got married,
and became a prominent member of the community. But
he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept
the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have
kept it.
One day he approached the new minister and told him
that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He
explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife
just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing
him home on Saturday." "Well, congratulations!"
said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed
keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"
"Carl," he replied.
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