There have been a wide variety of people in my life. Some have stayed a while and others have graced my life only for a moment. Regardless  they have helped shape and mold me into who I am today. I want to share with you about a man who said only a few words to me throughout my life. He was influential through my childhood and into my teen years. This man’s name was Wally.  

Wally Spencer was a close family friend who was a genuine cowboy. He regularly worked alongside our family on the long cattle drives, branding, and moving cows down from the forest. We trailed our cows from our Ranch that borders the continental divide near the Idaho/Montana border to Monida, Montana. We pushed our steers 47 miles to meet the train in Monida. The steers weighing approximately 800 pounds were loaded onto train cars and they will arrive back east to be fattened and processed for consumers. I have a few core memories that I will never forget, one as a baby, one as a small child, and lastly in the depths of my adolescent years. 

At this time, Wally walks into the Summit, the Monida café. He relaxes at a table covered with a vinyl tablecloth imprinted with yellow flowers. After a long cold October ride he embraces a nice cup of hot coffee that warms his cold bones. My mom is busy with making sure everyone gets situated as she hands me off to Wally. I sit on his lap smelling the aroma of the hot beverage recently poured into a white ceramic cup. He holds the coffee away from my curious hands. I sit and take in all the sites and sounds that my six month old mind is experiencing. My blue socks are pulled up to my knees and my shoes are tied with a big blue bow at my ankles. I sit in a pink long sleeve onesie with the extra long sleeves rolled up at my wrists. The smell of the trail and tired cowboys lingers as the hot roast beef and potatoes are plated and served. I sit comfortably in Wally’s lap as a National Geographic Photographer snaps a picture of us. 

To illustrate further, when I am nine years old, my family is on the second day of the cattle drive. The sun is scorching down on me and it has left my cheeks and nose sun-kissed. My arms are burned from playing behind the trail of cows all day long. The sagebrush grows thick and tall as it flourishes under the direct sunlight. The scent of the sagebrush is like an extra flavor to the noon meal floating in the air. I am careful to wear long pants, socks and tennis shoes every year when we trail the cattle. The ticks are thriving in the springtime hiding somewhere in the brush. I recently have had two ticks in the back of my neck that my mom has had to light a match to. I am careful not to aimlessly wander through the sagebrush. 

 I step into the camper and fill my plate with sweet baked beans, roast and a homemade roll. My mom scoops my plate full and motions for me to quickly leave the cramped kitchen. I swing the white and dingy beige door open. The door slams against the outside of the rippled aluminum panel. I run down the unstable aluminum steps wobbling under my weight. I maneuver through the camp chairs as I look for an old log to sit on to eat my food. I teeter my drink in one hand with my plate and utensils in another hand. I look down and cover my face with my arm to keep the smoke from the campfire out of my eyes. I take one step further and I walk right into Wally. He has a hot cup of coffee in a styrofoam cup. My head and his coffee collides. Hot liquid pours down my head. He looks at me with compassion, “Oh honey, are you okay?” He chuckles as he assesses my situation. I stare momentarily into his long face. I always wondered how his teeth got to be all different shades of gold. I think some could be missing. He has a dribble of spit running down his chin and a cheek full of chew. He grabs a napkin and dabs at the top of my head and looks into my eyes, “Sweetheart, are you going to be okay?” I nod in affirmation as my sunburnt face turns into the color of a tomato on a hot July afternoon from embarrassment. He pats my back reassuringly as he knocks on the camper to get another cup of coffee. The broken screen on the door is flapping in the wind as the door creaks open and Grandma is ready to refill his cup with the old silver coffee pot. I hear a few people giggling around me as they just witnessed hot coffee being poured out over my head. I shrug my shoulders and think to myself. Oh well, it’s the second day of the trail and I am dirty and dusty. A little coffee could possibly tame the dust in my hair and keep the flies away. I found a seat to consume my food and I thought about Wally. Even if his teeth are stained gold and there is something hiding behind his lip he is nice. I like to be around him because he makes me feel good inside.

Along with these few experiences with Wally, I am in my senior year of high school. I throw my bag into the back of the silver Chevy Citation. I slam on the gas as I back out of the driveway. I push hard on the brakes and I shove the gear into Drive. My sister is sitting in the passenger seat as we drive to school. We are running a little behind. We have to make it in ten minutes and we have 18 miles to go. We pull off the interstate and I veer to the right to turn onto Highway. I hit the gas pedal hard again and increased my speed while we were rocking out to the latest hits on the radio. We manage this unattractive drive every day. Sagebrush, dirt, and rocks is all there is for what seems to be miles on end. My eyes are bored looking out the window. I touch the brake to slow down as we are coming close to the intersection of the old highway. The car seems to be stuck in super speed mode. I touch the brake again a little more aggressively and the car is increasing in speed. This has happened before. The gas pedal is stuck again. In the past I have slammed my right foot down hard on the pedal and it has released its grip on the accelerator. I laugh inside. At least we will get there with time to spare. I sit back and let the citation carry us faster and faster down the highway. It’s time to try to slow this old car down again. I slam on the gas pedal again knowing that it will release its fury. It won’t let go! I slam harder and harder on the pedal and we are almost hitting 90 mph. I am not sure what to do. Do I slam the gear into N? Or turn the key off going this fast? I hit the brake and it is hard and unforgiving. I jump on the accelerator over and over again silently praying that we don’t die. Finally the pedal releases its rage. I viciously slam on the brake as we enter the 35 MPH speed limit zone. We coast into the High school parking lot careful not to use the gas pedal. I looked at my sister and we both let out a sigh of relief that we made it alive. 

The local mechanic looks at our car and promises that he will  do all he can do to get it fixed. We get a call about two weeks after his promise of creating miracles on the Chevy citation. We can see his head shaking from side to side as he tells my dad over the phone, “Nick, I’ve done all I can do. You are going to have to junk the old thing.” My dad says, “Okay, thank you,” and slowly puts the phone down on the receiver. The old silver car took its last ride and it sits in the junkyard.

This holds a lot of symbolism for my life right now. There are a lot of broken down things in my home and in my heart. My parents are divorced, my dads health is declining and everything is falling apart. Broken faucets, rotting flooring, and the latch on the front door doesn’t work anymore. The equipment outside is old and there is not enough money to go around. Walking away from the Chevy leaves me with feelings of dread and a sense of freedom.

It is my senior year and I need to have some sort of transportation. I am leaving this ash heap behind and I need to have a way to get away from it all. Graduation is coming soon and so I made a plan. I walk up to my dads room, “Dad, let’s go to the car lot in town and see what is available. I will pay for a vehicle if you could please help me with the first payment.” 

Dad slowly writes a check out to the salesman and they shake hands over the desk.  The salesman hands me the keys to my brand new Chevy S10. I can’t stop smiling as I drive the 35 miles home with the windows down. The steering wheel is tight and the gas pedal is soft. The seats are plush and full of cushions. I keep inhaling the new car smell over and over again as I make my way home. 

Consequently, If you have grown up in a small town you will be able to relate to what I am about to say next. Communities with a fairly small population can either put you up on a pedestal and raise you higher or they can bring you down so low that the only way to escape them is to leave. Unfortunately, I was caught on the downward spiral in my town. Rumors were quickly spread that my dad had bought me a pick-up and that I was taking advantage of him. Cruel things were often said to me. I felt alone and ashamed that I had asked my dad to help make the first payment on a vehicle I desperately needed.  

Finally, one hot afternoon I was hauling garbage to the dump that was a mile down the road from my house. I swung the bags of garbage from the big metal dumpsters that the community had access to. As I was in mid-swing Wally’s dodge pulled in front of my pick-up. He got out and looked the pick up over. He pauses as he rests his hand on the bed of my new red pick-up. He looks me in the eye, “Did you get a new pick-up? I hesitated because of the harsh words that had been said to me. I nodded. He stepped closer to me, “Dari, I am so happy for you. You have had a hard couple of years and you deserve this. You have a big bright future ahead of you. I am so proud of you.” He touches my hand and he turns and walks away.  

 Lastly, these were precious moments in my life that consisted of hardly any words. Moments that changed my life. Moments that brought clarity to my own pathway and helped me to want to be a better human being. Wally was kind, tender, gentle and he understood how to lift someone. His words have impacted my life and helped me sculpt out my own personal pathway. 

Here are some ideas that you could try to help you find who you want to become:

• Be kind: It can leave a big impact and it can inspire others to spread goodness and love.     

• Reaching out and touching someone has the power to strengthen and lift someone. 
• Be a mentor or a friend to someone. It can help them live a happier life and it can also lead to their own success. 

Towards the end of Wally’s life I sat on a couch in the foyer of the church next to him. I was unable to tell if he remembered me. Many years had passed by since the day I saw him at the dump. Emotions filled my heart as I sat by him. I wanted to throw my arms around him and thank him for helping me find the person I want to become. I touched his hand and said, “Wally, it is so good to see you. You mean so much to me.” He looked at me and gave me a half smile. We sat in silence for a while and then I walked away. 

Resources:

https://www.beaninspirer.com/kind-words-best-act-leave-powerful-impact/

The Remarkable Power of Touch