Lean on Me

 Week Forty-five: Lean on Me

Sometimes in our lives

We all have pain

We all have sorrow

But if we are wise

We know that there's always tomorrow

Lean on me

When you're not strong

And I'll be your friend

I'll help you carry on...

--Bill Withers, Lean on Me, from the album Still Bill

Years ago I started carrying a murse, a man-purse, you know, a man-bag, a messenger bag, a satchel. By any name it is the perfect vehicle to carry utterly useless things because you never know when you might need some of that stuff. Some things that I do carry in there and often need are band-aids because years ago I thoroughly embarrassed myself (unintentionally of course) when I discovered a cut on my lower leg. Thanks to the blood thinners that help me avoid a stroke, my wound bled freely. It wasn’t until I sensed the trickle/tickle that I reached down to scratch my itch. What I got in return was a bloody hand. After considerable effort to clean myself and the restaurant floor, I swore I would not be without the supplies I need if and when it happens again.

The only other living creature that knows my daily routine at least as well as I do has four legs and follows me around like my shadow. For the last four years we have taken two walks per day almost without exception. Since moving to our latest house, our afternoon walk is usually at the local park. With over a mile of trails meander back and forth over a little stream, the trails pass multiple picnic areas, a playground, and several covered shelters. The park is completely shaded, which makes it a perfect place to walk especially in the hot summertime.

Our afternoon route is never exactly the same each day, but it is a very small park so our dog, Leon, is very familiar with the trails. What he doesn’t see very often is a young boy sitting alongside the trail next to his abandoned scooter. Neither do I, which is exactly why we approached him.

“Hey Pal. Everything okay?” I asked. After all, what else do you say to a six or seven year old who is alone and crying?

He didn’t look up but he mumbled, “No. It’s not okay.” (He probably thought: What does it look like Einstein?)

“Are you hurt?” I asked. He shook his head and showed me the abrasion on his elbow. “That looks like it hurts,” I told him. “You’re being brave.” He had stopped crying, but still didn’t look at me. “Are your mom or dad here?” He told me they were and that another man had volunteered to go tell his father. “How about if I carry your toy and we walk up there? Okay?”

He looked up and said, “It’s a scooter.”

“Come on. I’ll carry your scooter, and we’ll go find Dad.” He stood up. As we walked in the general direction of the distant shelter, we could see two men walking toward us. “Is that your dad,” I asked. It was.

“What happened Bud?” Dad asked him as he took the scooter from me. The boy told him he fell off his scooter and hurt his arm. He started crying again. “We better call the helicopter in here to take you to the hospital!” Dad said as he examined the abrasion. The boy smiled through his tears and laid his head against his father’s leg. Dad thanked me and the other man who had volunteered to help the boy. 

As Leon and I  continued our walk, I got an idea. Instead of taking a route more familiar to Leon we returned immediately to our car. 

Dad was somewhat surprised to see us as we approached the shelter where they were setting up for a birthday party. “Sometimes a band-aid just makes it feel better,” I told him as I extended my hand toward him. He smiled and thanked me.

We were still within earshot when I heard a seven-year old voice yell, “Thank you Mister.” I waved to him, and he waved back.

Lean on Me