Trena Eiden

Last fall, my pool boy shoveled gravel while I stood by entertaining him with jokes. He comes from a fabulous set of parents, but knowing he’d had his phone taken away I asked, “Is there a timeframe to get your phone back?” He smiled wanly, “I think I’ll probably have a phone again when I get to college and buy my own.” We chatted quite a bit that day about obedience. I’m not sure which he thought was worse, shoveling or listening to me.  

A few years ago, Seth Marco, a small independent bookstore owner from San Diego, had to have emergency, open-heart surgery. So she could be there for the 10-hour surgery, his wife, Jennifer, hurriedly found care for their toddler with a friend, Scott Ehrig-Burgess and his wife. Their only employee was home with the flu, so having no choice, Jennifer locked the bookstore’s door, not knowing when she might open it again. Scott managed a bookstore across town, but in 2017, when the Marco’s first opened their store, The Book Catapult, he’d helped them out and still had a key. He drove across town and opened Seth and Jennifer’s store and then called four other bookstores (competitors) in the area, asking for a volunteer from each to come help. Eight volunteers readily agreed and began rearranging their schedules.  

Scott would get up early, drive across town to open The Book Catapult, get the day’s volunteer set up, then drive back across town to his job. After work, he’d drive back across town to close the Marco’s store. He and the volunteers worked like this for a week until the sick employee was well. She, and Jennifer’s parents, who flew in to help, were then able to manage on their own. This story reminds me yet again, how many good and great people there are in the world.  

Leaving work last fall, I was driving on the outskirts of town, talking to Gar on my phone. Alongside the road sat a truck pulling a horse trailer, and ahead about 50 yards was a young man thumbing a ride. He was wearing khaki, canvas pants, a button-up shirt, tie and sweater, had a nice haircut and an ear bud in.  

I pulled over, in front of him and he ran up as I rolled down the window. He said they were broke down and he had a 4-H scholarship interview at the high school and needed a ride. I said it stunk to be him and drove off. No, I didn’t. I threw winter gear off the front seat to the back and motioned for him to hop in. I still had Gar on the phone, so told him I was putting a hitchhiker in the truck with me, but said he appeared too young and nicely dressed to be an ax murderer. Then while Gar was still listening, I asked the kid if he’d ever killed anyone? He said, “Not lately, you?” I shook my head, “Not today.” I told Gar I’d call him back, then began to chat with “Doug” making him wish he’d waited for somebody sane to come along.  

He told me his life story in Readers Digest condensed version, mentioning he did dirt work in the summer with his dad’s excavator, and had four sisters, one with special needs, who he helped show a pig because the steers scared her. His phone rang and he turned to me and I promise, I’m not making this up, he apologized, “I’m sorry, I have to take this, it’s my mom.” Then he said a curious thing, “Hi mom, no I’m OK, dad is with the truck because it lost oil pressure, but I’m safe and a really nice lady picked me up.”  

What? It was me behind the wheel so he was anything but safe, and nice lady? Oh, my word, the lies we tell our mothers when we’re young and unblemished.  

As Doug got out at the school, he leaned in, putting his hand out for me to shake, and remembering my name, said, “Trena, thank you for your kindness, I appreciate you so much.” I wanted to tell him he was adorable. Instead, I called Gar to tell him maybe America wasn’t going to hell in a handbasket after all.  

As for my pool boy, a couple years before I’d met him, I witnessed him return to the grocery store and hand a dollar to the checker saying, “You overpaid me.” My cold heart melts just a smidge at people like these.