Dear Editor:
I am writing this letter at the request of my family with whom I
shared this story of what happened on the commute home on Tuesday,
Dec. 16. I was hesitant in writing this because I did not want the
meaning of this
”
Christmas Story
”
to be misinterpreted as bragging or saying
”
look how good I am.
”
Dear Editor:
I am writing this letter at the request of my family with whom I shared this story of what happened on the commute home on Tuesday, Dec. 16. I was hesitant in writing this because I did not want the meaning of this “Christmas Story” to be misinterpreted as bragging or saying “look how good I am.”
I consider myself to be an normal American, I have a college degree, I am well read, I have a loving wife and two children, both attending Gilroy High School, I have a good job, and lots of friends and family to love, argue, and laugh with.
Tuesday started out like any other day, I got up, showered, got dressed, kissed my wife goodbye, and walked out the door of my house heading to the car hearing her say (as she does every morning), “drive carefully!” I went to work, had some problems with some code I was writing (I am a software engineer), and stayed a little later then usual. During the day I naturally thought of who wanted what for Christmas and of course how much that will cost me, which put me in a less then happy mood, and the fact I was leaving later then usual and that would mean gridlock on the way home, really put a damper on my Christmas Spirit.
So, I walked to the parking garage, jumped in my car and started up First Street in San Jose, then jumped on Highway 880 heading south. I turned on the radio station that only plays holiday music, hoping my mood would improve while in this god forsaken traffic. I then merged on the ramp to Highway 85 heading my way closer to my goal of getting home, traffic was to say the least moving, at a snail’s pace, but at least moving. I no sooner got out from under the overpass when a small car in front of me started moving backwards toward me, I hit the brakes and the horn at the same time wondering what the heck (well ok not heck, but this is a small town newspaper and it may not be ready for an New York born and raised person’s bad language).
The car stopped and did not move, I could see the driver trying unsuccessfully to start the car, and it wouldn’t. Then the driver’s side door opens and out steps a small Asian woman, all of about 90 pounds, in a panic trying to tell me something, which I could not hear, because of my windows were up and I was jamming to “Jingle Bell Rock” on the radio. I turned the radio off and rolled down my window, but she had gotten back in her car again trying to start it again, and again was unsuccessful.
So I yelled out my windows “What’s up!” She got out and tears are rolling down her face. Plus was so choked up and upset she had trouble telling me that her battery was dead, and she doesn‚t know what to do. I told her to “take it easy,” and take a deep breath and get back in the car and I’ll push it off to the shoulder. She got back in and for some reason the gear shift was stuck, it could not move into neutral, the car was going nowhere, and to make matters worst her battery was so dead her flashers wouldn’t even work.
I told her I would stay there with her until the tow truck comes. In that 35 minutes it took the tow truck to arrive, at the height of rush hour, blocking the number 1 lane of the 85 on-ramp, do you think anyone even opened their window to ask if everything was alright? No, not a one, I did hear “move your friggin’ car!” I did hear “what the heck, you moron!” as well as some ethnic slurs directed towards the distressed driver of the dead car.
This of course upset the person with the dead car as well as me, but of course again being a transplanted New Yorker, I told them to “be fruitful and multiply,” well not exactly in those words but the meaning was the same.
About 35 minutes later the tow truck arrives, and the woman thanked me and gave me a big hug, even the tow truck drive thanked me and said there would have been big trouble if I was not there.
I arrived home about 45 minutes late and at the dinner table I told my wife and children this story, and my daughters told me that I should write the editor of The Dispatch because this story as an example of the Christmas spirit that should be around us all year round, and not just at the holidays.
They also said that I did do an unselfish feat of true charity and it did not cost anything, and that person will remember this for years to come. I thought about what they said that night in my bedroom before going to sleep, and my wife knowing I was in deep thought, said “a penny for your thoughts.” I told her that we must have done something right with our girls thinking this was a good thing I did, some kids might have said “why waste your time?” I think that was a credit to us as parents, our friends and family, and the community in which we live, but I am sure that there where a bunch of other people that where on there way home to Gilroy who “flipped us off,” and screamed obscenities and ethnic slurs, or just had blank empathic stares.
The next day I received a call from the person I helped (who is a doctor by the way), again thanking me and asking is there any she could do for my act of charity, suggesting a good bottle of wine or scotch. I said “no” and asked her that next time she sees someone who asks help, to help them and that would be reward enough for me. So, maybe we should keep the holidays holy, and just don’t sit idle when someone is in need of help, at least ask them if they need help.
Charity is its own reward, especially now and all year round.
William J. Flow, Gilroy
Submitted Thursday, Dec. 18 to ed****@****ic.com
