Pop was a truck mechanic. At times he had to lie on his back under big tractor trailers. One day I was with him at work and watched as he was reaching up to fix something on the underside of one of the beasts. His arms fell, flopped down is more precise.
“What’s wrong, Pop?” I asked worriedly.
“My arms are so tired.”
“Why don’t you take a rest?”
“I gotta finish this job.”
“Take a break, Pop,” I urged.
“Can’t. It’s gotta be finished today. I promised you kids we’d go to the river this weekend.”
His impossible dream was to take care of his family, us, the kids. He did the impossible, simply by never giving up, and in this case even calling for Help when necessary. We loved him; I loved him more than life itself. And he asked me to pray.
I thought hard and long and then mustered all a six year old could think of to pray. What I remember praying is, “Dear God, Please bring mommy back.”
That’s it. No more. To my surprise, each older brother and sister, in turn, prayed the same “Dear God, please bring mommy back.”
Finally Pop prayed the same thing. And we went to bed.
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