I Will Go, If You Lead Me

Driving home from school, I saw the familiar form and ponderous gait of Mr. Gennerson. Dressed in his usual white t-shirt, tucked into tan pants, held up by sturdy suspenders. Today he looked like he was struggling under the twin oppressors of age and weight.

Normally I mind my own business. Life has taught me many lessons but “Don’t try and help people that don’t ask for it!” was a class I repeated often.

He was less than a mile away from his house, so I drove on.

A block later, I remembered my dad telling me that Mr. Gennerson was old enough to start getting confused, and his wife worried about him when he left his house. If he ever looked lost, I was supposed to offer him a ride.

I drove back around the block and pulled up to the curb.

“Mr. Gennerson? Do you want a ride home?”

“That’d be lovely, Bill.”

Bill was my dad’s name.

I helped him get into the car and took him to his house, something I did each time I saw him from then on.

My dad swears to this day that he never told me to do that.

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