Live, Learn, Be Better Through an act of Kindness

"Where did we ever get the crazy idea that in order to make children do better, first we have to make them feel worse?" -Jane Nelson

I stood alone, surveying the mess I had made, the destruction I had done, and the result of what failure looks like. It was bad. Then I heard a creak of a door opening and expected it to get worse.

24 hours earlier:

Growing up in a small town on the prairies, during summer break, is a beautiful thing. Especially when you do not yet have responsibilities. Getting a job and being a contributor to the world would come soon enough, but not at this time in our lives. To us the days were endless, and the sun was always shining. We were 13-year-old boys, enjoying life as much as we could.

This day found us in my friends back yard playing basketball. Marty had the perfect area for this, a hoop attached to the backwall of a detached garage, with a concrete pad for a court. If we were not wandering around in the countryside, we could be found in his yard most days, today was no different. The sound of the bouncing ball ands shuffling shoes echoed off the building as we scrimmaged.

There were four of us, playing games of two on two, and practicing trick shots. In truth they were better than I was, but I tried hard. Our attempt at dunking the ball was far from a reality, until someone discovered that if you took a running start, jumped, then pushed off the garage wall it would propel you higher. So, that is what we ended up doing for most of the afternoon, we did it so often that the scuff from our shoes was now a permeant mark on the garage wall.

It was getting late, we were winding down, I took one last attempt at getting a slam dunk. Running as hard as I could, I felt the energy in my young muscles, felt my body leap higher than ever before, when my foot contacted the wall, I pushed as hard as I could. Unfortunately, I did not experience that rush of flying. Instead, I heard a crack and I found myself suspended, no longer going up, but not coming down. Not right away. When you are expecting one thing, but another thing happens instead, it takes a while for the mind to process what transpired.

What we did not realize until this moment, was that the spot on the garage, we were pushing off, was an area were a Stud was. A 2"x4" piece of wood, which a sheet of plywood is nailed to. On my jump I missed the stud, and my foot went directly through the wall of the garage, the sheet only being particle board broke easily. Now this was bad, I was trapped one foot on the ground and one in the wall, I was stuck. The wall busted, but not completely. It worked like a hinge, opening enough to fit my foot through, then closed back down to trap it.

My friends began to laugh, I did not. You must understand if things go wrong, I am the one that it usually happens too. I am not going to even mention the pumpkin incident.

I was embarrassed. All I could think was, ’not again’.

If that was not bad enough, unbeknownst to us, at the exact time my foot was about to break on through, Marty’s father was arriving home from work. As his car pulled into the garage, he was greeted by a sneakered foot blasting its way through the wall in front of him.

We were unaware that he had arrived, until we heard that distinct sound of a closing garage door. My friends stopped laughing, I never started.

We heard the car door slam, saw the side door of the garage open and watched as Marty’s father stepped out and enter the yard. He was what some people would call grouchy, or distant, we called it scary. He was tall and lean, his hairstyle of choice was a brush cut and he wore a suit. He also had dark rim glasses and was not known for smiling. Basically, he looked like an FBI agent.

I was stuck unable to move, Marty and our two other friends froze. I was shaking, knowing the three of them could run away, while I was like an animal caught in a trap, waiting to be bludgeoned. Ok, that was an exaggeration. Most likely I would be dragged home, having to explain this to my parents.

Mr. Stevens took in the situation, staring at the four of us. I guarantee my foot in the wall, was not the only accident that was taking place at this moment. With a shake of his head, he gave a non-committal grunt, turned, and walked into his house.

We breathed.

That was it? No yelling, no disappointing comments, no threats of a beating. Yes, in my generation it was not unheard of for an adult (outside the family) to strike a child, or at the very least, shake them up.

Not cool.

Perhaps that was where we should have left it. After the boys freed me, we stood there looking at the damage, an irregular hole and a piece of wall that was just hanging there. I should have approached Marty’s father, apologized for the mishap, and went home.

Marty then made a comment that did not make any sense back then, even less so today. Looking at me he said, “Your Dad's a good carpenter, you should be able to fix this”

That kind of deductive reasoning makes about as much sense as saying to someone, ‘Hey, your parent is a doctor, you should be able to deliver this baby?’

There was no logic to what he just said, none.

Instead, I just nodded my head and said “Probably”.

In truth, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and be left alone. I felt like a loser.

The next morning, I woke up and went down into my dad’s workshop, gabbed a piece of wood and some tools. I marched over to Marty’s house with plans on repairing the wall. There was no one home. I thought, I can fix this while everyone was away and surprise them when they return.

I knew I had to cut the wall and make a square hole about 16 inches by 16 inches, from stud to stud, so the filler wood had something to attach to, I measured and cut a hole with a hand saw and chisel. I cannot even begin to imagine how terrible that cut must have looked like. For the filler piece, I had to go back and forth many times from their home to ours (we were just across the road from each other) to cut the wood on my father’s table saw. After many attempts, I finally had the proper size, I nailed it in place. In my mind it fit perfectly, which today when I think back, I'm sure it did not.

Now that would have been fine, had I left it at that, but as I was cleaning up, I noticed some paint cans in the garage. There was a yellow paint, the same color as their garage. Thinking that if I painted the new piece, it would be as if the accident never happened. Brilliant idea.

I proceeded to color the patched piece. What you do not realize when you are young, is that the sun fades colors, so the once bright yellow garage was now faded and worn. The paint I added was bright and vibrant, it glowed like the morning Sun. A bright beacon, calling for all to see my failure. I knew it was not perfect, but I had to try, right?

It wasn't too bad, just very noticeable, perhaps all would have been fine if I would have walked away and left it at that. But I thought if I could add a little white to the paint and feather it ever so gently, I could blend the colors. I really should have walked away.

I worked on brushing it, slowly, carefully with precise strokes I blended the colors. I was like Bob Ross, ' lets just add a touch of white, that's it, make gentle little wisps, like morning mist.' When I close my eyes, I can still smell the heaviness of the paint, the scent of sawdust. The heat of the sun, warm upon my shoulders as I worked.

I thought, this time when Mr. Stevens pulled in, he would be greeted with a new wall, instead of a foot hanging in mid air. I envisioned him patting me on the back, for a job well done. Certainly, the towns folk would be invited over to see the incredible work of art and repair performed by myself. This could even lead to part time job for me, surly others had need of my skill.

Now, when you are busy daydreaming and being an idiot, you lose track of time. Believing to be finished, I stepped back to survey my work, that is when I saw the result, I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut, or a little lower.

I heard the garage door open.

Then close.

I waited for Mr. Stevens to come out. I stood back, my heart began beating fast, my attempt to fix my mistake failed, I knew that.

I heard the car door slam, footsteps approaching, the side door creak open; Mr. Stevens emerged and saw me standing there, a skinny little kid with a paint brush in one hand and a toolbox beside him. He looked at my handy man work, the patch job, the hideous yellow and white streaked wall.

But at least the hole was gone.

Then he looked back at me, and I noticed his eyes looking down at my feet and behind me. I followed his eyes, and to my horror I noticed that somehow, at some time, I had stepped in the paint. There were yellow shoe prints on the concrete pad.

My legs began to shake, I am sure my eyes were watering, preparing myself for a lashing of epic proportions, and in my mind, duly deserved. Instead, he gave a little grunt, almost a chuckle, turned and went inside his house.

I cannot, to this day, explain why he never got angry, we never discussed it, it never came up. He always treated me with respect and kindness when I was over at their home. My parents never mentioned any of this to me, making me realize he did not say a word to them or anyone.

A couple of months later as I was walking home from school. I noticed the yellow garage was now a baby blue.

I have never forgotten the value in that lesson and will always remember the kindness bestowed on me that day. I realized, it was ok to make a mistake. I learned how to be compassionate when others make a one. It happens.

A moment of Understanding is better than a lifetime of regret:

I have tried my best throughout the years to show kindness rather than anger. Not always successful, but I try.

Thank you, Mr. Stevens.

I appreciate you taking the time to read my story. If you enjoyed it, please leave a heart, and help yourself to view a few of my other stories. As always, I will never say no to a tip.

Cheers, Jason

Cost of Freedom - Best Date I never Had - Two Steps

-Oh, What a Lucky Man -

https://vocal.media/authors/jason-basaraba