"A good Man is Hard to Find" Grandmother's Perspective

“I believe I have injured an organ,” I said hoping to mitigate my son’s anger. But, when no one responded, and Bailey’s teeth began to make a deep, hair raising noise as he ground his teeth together I decided I would be better off trying to find a way out of this mess.

After scrambling up the side of the ditch, I barely had to wait five minutes before I saw a car coming down the road. Realizing I had found another way to cool down my son’s temper, I began waving my arms in a manner ill fitting, though I did not holler and whoop (I still retained some dignity at least), for a lady due to my excitement. When the car rolled on out of sight that excitement died and I recalled the conversation I had just had with Red Sammy.

“Good men are hard to find nowadays,” I mused as our hopes for assistance were dashed. The good, old days where a man would not hesitate to help a lady in need were long past. But then, the car reappeared and as it drew closer three men came into view, sitting inside. I watched, gleefully, and thought about how I was wrong and how there were still good men in this world. My grandchildren may be little monsters with no redeeming qualities but these men are living proof that things like being a lady still mattered.

They came to a stop just above us and the driver looked out the window stared for a few minutes. I preened under his gaze and waited for him to introduce himself but all he did was turn around and mutter something to his companions. The three of them came out and, though his two associates looked vaguely threatening, the driver looked distinguished and well bred. They also all carried guns. That startled me but, considering the times we lived in, I wrote it off as good men with the need to protect themselves.

“We’ve had an ACCIDENT!” my grandchildren shrieked. My goodness, the sound grated on my mind. Why, when I was a child, children knew how to behave and were respectful of their elders.

However, during my reminiscence I realized I recognized the driver from somewhere. I could have sworn I had see-

“Good afternoon, I see you all had you a little spill.” he said politely, peering over the side into the ditch.

“We turned over twice!” I exclaimed excited to have met a gentleman, especially after the unfortunate turn the day took.

“Once. We seen it happen,” then, turning to one of his companions, “Try their car and see will it run, Hiram.”

“What you got that gun for? Whatcha gonna do with that gun?” my grandson asked bouncing up to the man before I had a chance to thank him for his help.

“Lady, would you mind calling them children to sit with down by you? Children make me nervous. I want all of you to sit down right together there where you’re at.” he said motioning to the far wall of the ditch where my daughter in law was still slumped, cradling my youngest grandchild.

“What are you telling US what to do for?” June Star, my granddaughter, said obnoxiously. I understood him perfectly however. He was like me. A relic left over from the past, one who grew up in a different culture, under different rules. Rules my grandchildren did not even know about, let alone  abided by.

And then I realized, “You’re the Misfit! I recognized you at once,” forgetting all the kind things and the time spent commiserating with him in a split second.