I can truthfully say I have worked harder in the first three days of my ‘retirement’ than I have in the past six months. We were moving. First packing the items we will not need in temporary housing and putting them in storage. To do that, we rented the biggest truck U-Haul makes. And although we had plenty of friends to help, perhaps the smartest thing we did was hire the grandsons of a friend. I’m guessing they were about 16 or 17 years old.
Young, strong, fast and cheerful. Yes, you heard me right, cheerful. Those rapscallion buggers worked circles around me and laughed while they did it.
The toted and stacked and fetched and carried and reached things I could not. They didn’t even seem to mind having to wait while we kept packing. Then they packed the truck – and later the storage building – like a living game of Tetras.
And these kids worked hard. It was easy to tell they have been taught to work and work hard. This wasn’t something new to them. And they were polite and kind to this little old lady who was once able to move a household in a day.
Perhaps the most shocking thing was they did not have cell phones. I don’t mean they did not bring them along I mean they don’t have cells. It’s hard to imagine a teen without a cell phone permanently attached. But these boys are outstanding in many ways, including being cell free.
I never heard them swear and when the Stranger dropped the f-bomb they never even jibbed, just caught another gear and kept on going. They didn’t try to micromanage my driving, just like seeing a grandma driving a large box truck is just another day. They didn’t try to take over when the electronic gate lock flummoxed me even though we all know kids are way better at that kind of thing than adults. They didn’t bobble when by late afternoon, it was just ridiculous for me to even act like I was trying to help.
I was shot. I knew it and they knew it, even if they never mentioned it. It showed in the way they opened the truck door for me against the Mach 70 winds, opened the door to the convenience store and pumped the fuel for me. One even kept a hand under my elbow as I climbed back into the movemobile. Just in case. I knew their grandpa and uncle, have for a while now. But when I dropped them off, I had met their grandma. She hugged me up like I was family. And these boys didn’t hesitate the next day when we needed a little more help. Grandpa tagged along lent a hand and insisted on a much-reduced payment than what I had planned and offered. All I can say is if you want an illustration of what good kids look like, find Jacob and Tucker Wray. Those guys work like rented mules. Grandma and Grandpa are Millie and Mark Wray, and they should be justifiably proud.