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A Jump Start...
By
Ivana
Segvic
Austin,
Texas
A few years ago...
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A few years ago I moved to Austin. No family; no friends;
just my dog and I. Television, books, walks with Zorro,
my German shepherd, alleviated the loneliness, but who
do you call when something goes wrong and you need help?
One summer day a few years ago, after a long day at work
I stopped off at Randall’s to get milk. I walked in, walked
out, got into the car and it wouldn’t start. The shop
across the street was closed and I was stranded—a
dead battery. Easy enough. I’ll get a jump start
from someone, I thought. I started asking people who were
walking out of the grocery store. The first gentleman
I asked didn’t have time. The second didn’t have jumper
cables. Then, a man, dressed in his business suite was
walking out of the store, obviously in a rush.
“Excuse me, do you think you could give me a jump. My
battery is dead.” He smiled. “Sure, no problem.” I knew
he had to be in a rush to get home, probably going to
have dinner with his family, and I couldn’t help feeling
guilty—not for keeping him from going home, but because
I questioned if I would have had the kindness to help
someone in my situation.
He brought his car over and spent a good 20 minutes trying
to jump my battery. In the mean time I had called my dad
in Houston to see if he had any ideas. As I was on the
phone, the gentleman says, “I think this battery is dried
up. If you like, I can run you to the Auto Zone and you
can get another one.”
The Auto Zone was about 10 minutes away—one way. I was
struck speechless at this man’s kindness… but my dad wasn’t.
“Don’t get in a car with a stranger,” I heard him saying
on the phone. He had obviously overheard the sympathetic
man’s offer. “Promise me you won’t get in the car with
him.” OK, I promise, I said and hung up the phone, wishing
I hadn’t called him. But a promise is a promise.
Now how do I tell this nice man that my father thinks
he might be a serial killer?
“Thank you so much for your kind offer,” I said blushing
because of what had to come out of my mouth next. “I know
this is going to sound strange but my dad, who has always
been overprotective, made me promise not to get in a car
with a stranger.” The man started laughing. “Oh I completely
understand. I have two daughters and I would say the same
thing.” Yea, but his daughters weren’t even teenagers,
I was in my mid 20s! “I’ve got an idea,” he said and walked
over to his car to get his cell phone.
The next thing I know he’s talking to his wife. “Honey,
there’s this girl who’s stranded and she needs a new battery.
I was going to give her a ride to the Auto Zone but her
dad made her promise not to get in the car with a strange
guy.” There was silence and then he says, “That’s what
I was thinking. We’re at the Randall’s”
In about 10 minutes, his wife and two daughters pull up.
The girls were dressed in soccer uniforms. He had decided
to take his daughters to soccer practice and his wife
would take me to the Auto Zone. They switched cars and
she and I were off to Auto Zone. We got the battery, but
yet another problem surfaced. Not being too mechanically
inclined, I had no idea how to take out the old battery
and put in the new one. “Why don’t we swing by soccer
practice and my husband can put in the new battery for
you,” she suggested.
I got to the soccer practice and watched the girls play
for a little while. The gentleman who helped me was coaching,
so instead the wife’s brother got in the car with us and
we all drove back to my car. He put in the battery for
me and I was able to drive home.
A week later I went back to the soccer practice and found
them there. I had to find a way to thank them so I bought
the largest box of Roche chocolates I could find and a
couple little chocolate soccer balls for the girls. But
it never seemed sufficient. How
do you say “thank you” when the words don’t seem to be
an even remotely adequate expression of how much such
an act of kindness meant to you?
This had happened several years ago and with my dreadful
memory for names, I regret that I have no way of saying
thank you to them directly, but I always wished there
was some way I could express my gratitude to this remarkable
family. Since then I often think of them and try
to behave as they did. I learned quite an important lesson
that day—one that can be summarized in one word: selflessness.
How many of us would have done the same? Back
then, I know I wouldn’t have. And that is why my "thank
you" isn’t only for the day my car started running
again. It’s for the days that followed where I’ve tried
to apply the lesson I from this generous family.
Somehow, that old, dead battery
seemed to charge my life in a more positive direction
thanks to the kindness of one Austin family. I guess sometimes
we all need that jump start.
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