A Memory

George T. was an interesting guy. He was a Lebanese immigrant and spoke heavily accented English. As a very small child, he survived a massacre of most of the males in his village only because his mother had the presence of mind to hide him beneath her skirts.

As is the case in so many immigrant stories, George came to America and worked extremely hard as a young man. He labored and he picked cotton.  Later, he owned a store in Oklahoma. He could lift and carry a heavy sack of grain in each hand.  Even late in life (he lived into his 90's) if you bought George a watch band, you had to buy two because it took one-and-a-half watch bands to wrap around his wrist. And his wrists had no fat on them. 

Working and saving, George and his wife, Martha, put three of their sons through medical school.  Their oldest child, a daughter, became a very successful business woman.  Such were the times and the people.

Many, many years later, George and one of his adult sons were traveling -- in Texas I think. George got to hanging out with an older Mexican guy and told his son, "You go on home. I'm going to go with these guys to their ranch down in Mexico." 

Now recall: George's English wasn't so good. His Spanish was extremely limited. His son said something like, "Are you sure you want to do that, Dad? You don't know anything about these people." 

George replied to the effect, "Son, if you're a good enough person, you don't have to worry about other people. I'll be back in a week.  Meet me here." 

So, George got into his new friends' truck and went off and a great time. He ate lots of home-cooked Mexican food.  He helped care for the goats.  He rode a donkey around the ranch. He returned just when and where he said he would.

Yes, this was a long time ago, and we all regret that the world has gotten nastier in too many ways. 

Still, it is a good memory.