When you’re driving 350 plus miles trying to make it in time for that Thanksgiving dinner, but your engine dies in the middle of the busiest highway, and there is no way you can get out of your car because of the fast, nonstop traffic on both the right and left lanes not to mention two eighteen- wheeler trucks behind you, you realize this Thanksgiving could be your last day on earth.
“Get out of the car!” hollered one driver hauling a car.
“Do not get out of the car! Don’t you see the cars are moving very fast?” cries out my son who was the one on the wheels.
“But we will be run over here by those eighteen- wheeler trucks if we do not get out?” I shut back.
“I called 911. Let’s wait!” he shouts back.
I can’t believe how things happen so quickly. Just a few hours ago, we woke up content that we were able to spend time together visiting Downtown, Austin. We left the city with memories of the greenery of South Congress, the Lady Bird Lake, the Lady Bird Wildflowers, the House of Korea, the Driskill Unbound… and here we are – at the brink of death!
“You’ve got to get out of your car, guys!” a husky-looking guy shouted.
Petrified, I just looked at him hoping he would offer help.
Despite the traffic, this guy suddenly parked right in front of our car. He got out, and walked closer to our car yelling that we get out of our car.
“Did you want me to get you out of here?”
“Please,” was all I can say.
These guys looked like some tough guys from some tough neighborhood. The one who approached my son. looked muscular and husky and the other looked serious and unfriendly. Both had blood-shot eyes, and I thought that they looked like those guys from some action movies who take advantage of people in distress to make money.
As soon as we agreed that they help us, the bigger guy opened the trunk of his car and brought out a rolled tow trap. He signaled to his companion to attach it to our car. Then, while the one guy put up a hand signal to slow the traffic on the right lanes, the other one came closer to give my son some instructions.
“Put your gear on neutral, and just follow me slowly. I will take you to the nearest gasoline station,” he said.
Nervous but compliant, my son just nodded his head. The guys started his truck, and we followed along. I could not see the left lanes for an eighteen-wheeler was towering above us. We slowed the traffic on the right, and I could hear my son panicking every time the tow truck forcibly accelerates our car.
When we finally reached the Gasoline station, I breathed a sigh of relief. The guys unstrapped the car and said, “You’re safe here. When that happens again, remember to leave your car right away. You can be run over by those trucks.”
“Yes,” we nodded in agreement.
“Thank you so much for helping us.”
Then he reiterated, “You get out of the car right away. You see, you can buy a new car, but you can’t – pointing at my son, replace him.”
Feeling very emotional, I looked at my son who came out- of- state to spend this few days with us, and I wanted to hug the guy for saying those words. Sometimes, you do not think about it until somebody points it out to you. It’s true that we could have been killed had we stayed in the car longer.
“How much do we owe you, sir,” I asked the guy.
“No, we just wanted you to be safe. Bye now,” and away they went.
In the shock of the moment, we forgot to ask their names. They refused to accept any payment. Their intention was sincere and pure: to rescue us from danger.
Relieved that we were out of harms way, I just sat in the car staring at space. A feeling of remorse was gnawing at me. I prejudged those two guys, and I was very ashamed of myself. I will forever be indebted to them whose intentions were sincere and whose deeds I can not repay.
I may not meet those two guys again, but I thank them for teaching me to check my heart and not judge others according to how they look. Those guys taught me to extend help without asking something in return. They showed me kindness in action. Most of all, they showed me there is still so much good in humanity.
I have never had a more meaningful thanksgiving.
”
This Borrowed Scrap of Time 