It belongs to a guy who lives somewhere in the neighborhood who police said was probably going too fast on the slippery roads and came within feet of hitting the only tree in my corner lot.
It was before 9 a.m. He was very distraught and didn't seem dressed for the weather...it was one of those sub-zero days we are all loving so much. He had on a thin hoody and sweats was older, older than me! He was very shaken up.
So, when he came to my door and it was freezing cold I didn't think. "Dude, you almost hit my tree!" I didn't say, "give me all of your contact information, right now Mister, you've torn my yard to shreds!"
Nope, I was concerned that he was safe and warm and wasn't hurt. I was worried about him and didn't even get his name. I told him no worries and I was just glad he was OK. My focus was on making sure whether he needed help while calculating whether or not it was safe to invite him into my house to get warm or make a call because I was alone and in my bath robe. (His other vehicle, a Ford Tundra which a police officer said capable of pulling the car out of the ditch, was idling in the street.)
The tactic agreement in this exchange was that I expected he would do the right thing and come claim his car out of my yard when the weather got warmer and the crisis passed and make an effort to make things right.
So, now, five days later, there is still a car in my yard.
I called the police because I thought they would place one of those stickers you see stuck on cars on the side of the highway and, soon, remove it from my property. I was informed by the police that it is parked on private property....mine...I am responsible to tow it away if the owner doesn't come to claim it.
So, I suppose, within the next few days I'll have to play some kind of hard ball and tow the car, somehow notify the owner and say "pay me what I paid to tow the car or it is mine."
That makes me uncomfortable. I was just trying to be nice. But I had a different recent experience were I discovered that all that being nice has gotten me is screwed out of tens of thousands of dollars over the years. And, believe me when I say, I do not have tens of thousands of dollars to be screwed out of. But it got me wondering is it ever wrong to be nice? Have I been too accommodating over the years because I wanted to be liked or because I was afraid to hurt someone's feelings? Or because I I thought I was protecting someone else? Would it have been so wrong to ask the guy for his name and numbers?
Tuesday: So, I started writing this post on Monday and now it's Tuesday. The nervous car driver came by while I was carefully stepping through the icy driveway to retrieve my garbage can so I didn't break a hip. He was nervous and apologetic and promised to get the car out of my yard.
He said he had lost three people he loved in the last six months, including his wife and his mother, and hadn't gotten use to it all. For a minute, to be honest, I wondered if he was telling the truth. There was an instant when I took all of him in. He was still wearing the same clothes ill-suited for the weather. His speech was difficult to understand because it seemed he didn't have in his teeth. He looked about ready to cry. So I looked him squarely in the eye and said "I'm glad your were OK" and "I know you'll do your best."
In that moment it felt like the right thing to do but I still wondered, stepping gingerly back down the driveway that I may well be the biggest sucker of all time.
Wednesday: I pull out for work and the car was gone. It was one of those moments where I couldn't help but smile and the sun seemed to shine a little brighter. It may be overstating it but I felt like my faith in humanity had been in part restored. I had considered reconsidering my probably naive life outlook that assumes that basically people are doing the best they can. This recent lapse in faith has been tied directly to a particular person who never ceases to amaze me in their ability to be thoughtless and hurtful.
But here is the thing. I'm the one at fault in that case. Once, maybe twice, you give a person a chance. When it gets to be chance, five, six, 100, 200.....you have to take some responsibility. Or, more directly, I have to take responsibility. And action. That person is out of good will and good thoughts.
But my distraught driver? He had one chance. He did the right thing and I have never been happier to see tire marks in my yard.
Shout out to our reader (readers?) in Poland! Menopause is universal.
Seventeen countries and counting!
Mary M.
