Grandma Henke

My new friend, Alice,  has a great post today that starts with the sentence:  “On your daily journeys, do you ever randomly glance at someone, and make an assumption about that person based on the way they’re dressed?”     I am also a fascinated member of the People Watching Society.     It’s as intriguing to walk through the city park or the local shopping mall as it is to stroll through the zoo and observe the animals.    

Her blog reminded me of an incident that happened thirty-five years ago when my man was a 1st lieutenant in the army and was stationed in Arizona at Yuma Proving Grounds.      It was like living in a gigantic oven set at 120 degrees,   We lived on post which was a good 45 minute drive from the city of Yuma.      

I was 8 1/2 months pregnant and had my little tow headed toddler son with me on my way to a doctor’s appointment in Yuma when our Toyota gave one dying cough, rolled its eyes upward, and died.     It was 122 degrees and the inside of our little red Corolla heated up so fast I was soon standing outside in the blistering sun trying to comfort a very obviously unhappy 18 month old boy, praying that someone would come along this fairly deserted highway who could help me.    (Of course, this was years before everybody and their dog carried a cell phone in their purse.)    Several vehicles zoomed right past me in the next 10 or 15 minutes … I couldn’t believe it.  Did they think I was hiding a loaded weapon beneath the maternity tent that covered my swollen abdomen?

Off through the wavy lines of desert heat that I saw the silhouette of an approaching Harley Davidson, with  an oversized, scary looking driver dressed in black leather pants and a vest that was held together in front with what looked like pieces of chain.    He didn’t wear a helmet and the hair on his head and face was wild looking from the windy ride.   I knew about Hell’s Angel’s from the movies, and he definitely looked the part.     He glanced in my direction as he passed me by and then made a wide turn in the road up ahead and headed back toward me.    I wanted to jump back in the car, roll up the windows and lock the doors … but it was too hot .. so there I stood, with nothing between him and me except a screaming toddler and my very, very obvious, belly full of child.  I must have looked pretty pathetic.

It didn’t take him long to discover the problem.   I was out of gas.    So he offered to take us into Yuma where we could get out of the heat and I could call my husband for help.     There was no way I was about to put my pregnant body behind that giant stranger made of hair, tattoos, leather and chains and ride off into the sunset with my 18 month old little toddler in tow … so I lied and told him my husband was on his way (Well what would you have done?   Don’t raise your eyebrows at me!)   So he did the next best thing he could do.   He gave me his canteen of water,  fixed me up with some shade and rode off.     I thought that was the last I’d see of him but about thirty minutes later he returned with a can full of gas and some more water.    He wouldn’t even let me pay him for the gas.  “What goes around, comes around,” he said as he climbed back on his Harley and started it with a stomp of his booted foot.     I’ve thought of him many times over the years … There was a soft heart underneath that scary exterior.   His mother would have been proud.

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