Shutter Photography: The Hardest thing I ever did

To continue from yesterdays post I wanted to share a story that was published in "Breaking the word Barrier". This is a true story from my father xox

The Hardest Thing I Ever Did

Dawn Watson

It was the hardest thing I ever did.

There I was sitting in the car outside Canadian Tire, Gripping the wheel so hard it’s a wonder I didn’t snap it in two. Not that I’m suck a strong man. I’m not a strong man; I like to think of myself as compact. But it’s a wonder I didn’t break that wheel. I suppose my two fists had never shaken with suck force.

The windshield was covered with ice, inside and out. The heater was gone again. All the way into town that morning, I had to stop every ten minutes to scrape the windshield, both outside and in. I had come into town early for my lessons that morning. I was learning to read because I wanted to be able to help my little girl, Felicia, with her school work, and I wanted to read her stories. I had been working hard for two years by that tie, but I still had a long way to go.

It was just a few days before Christmas, and I still hadn’t got Felicia’s present. She’s a young lady now, but she was a little girl then, and I didn’t have her present yet. Oh, I had some stuff form the Dollar Store, but she had her heart set on Polly Pocket’s Dream Home. She had written a letter to Santa Clause and asked him for it.

Polly Pocket’s Dream Home was in Canadian Tire. That present was under the counter there. The woman with the big diamond ring and a lot of pins on her shirt put it there when she took away my credit card. I had no money. I used the last of it to put gas in the car that morning. I would get that back; the government paid my gas to get to my lessons. By then it would be too late. Christmas would be over.

I was stuck. I wanted to get that present for Felicia, and at the same time, I didn’t know how I was going to go back in there and get it. I started thinking about what my teacher had said that morning. I was going to write a letter to myself as homework, and I was addressing the envelope. So far, I had printed everything. I asked me teacher if I could write my name, and she said sure. She told me I did a good job.

This was a change to ask something I’d often wondered about. “Look,” I said to her while I wrote my name on the page of my scribbler. “It looks different from the one I put on the envelope. It looks different every time a write it. Why is that?” She said I wasn’t really writing my name since I couldn’t write each of the letters. She said I was really drawing a picture, and if I tried to draw pictures of a tree, each one would look different.

When I left, she wished me a merry Christmas. I remembered that, sitting in my car with no heater thinking, not much change of that now. Canadian Tire was crowed. I should have done my shopping earlier. I don’t like crowds I’m kind of shy. I had shopped there lots of times with my card. I bought what I needed, and then I would pay off my card later. Maybe if I’d shopped earlier, I might have passed Felicia’s present and my card to someone else.

But I had shopped that day, and the diamond ring woman put it under the counter and took my card. First she got me to write me to sign a paper, and then she looked at my card, She told me to sign my name on a different piece of paper. By this time, people were lined up at the front desk behind me, and I could tell they were listing. I didn’t know what was wrong, but I was embarrassed just the same. I wrote my name again and she stared at it and at my card through her granny glasses. “That’s not your signature!” she made sure she was loud enough for everyone to hear.

She put Felicia’s present under the counter and put my card under the cash register. Then she reached around me to take the presents from the next person in line. We were done. And that was why I was sitting, freezing i'm my car a few days before Christmas, holding onto that wheel like there was tomorrow, except there was a tomorrow, and only a few more of them before Christmas.

I was thinking of how Felicia had helped me decorate the tree, or I had helped her, really. Whatever she couldn’t reach she told me to do, and she made sure I followed her orders to the last branch and twig. When we were satisfied with our work, we made popcorn, and I told her how God sent His Son to us to teach us how we should live. We sat in front of the tree, and we didn’t even turn the TV on. We talked about the Christmas story and how much God must loves us to send us His Son.

As a single parent, I worried that I didn’t give her everything she needed to grow up to be the best she could be. that’s part of the reason I had to learn to read. I wanted her to be able to get a good job so she can afford to have a car with a heater that works, so she would have money left at the end of the month, so she could have a big diamond ring if she wanted one. I wanted her to be able to write and not draw pictures.

I wanted her life to be better than mine. And I wanted her life to be as good for her to someday have a c

child to bring her joy. After I stewed for a while, it became very clear what I needed to do.

The hardest thing I ever did was let go of that wheel. I got out of the car and walked across the parking lot. I was shivering, and I didn’t think it was because of the whether. I got in line at the desk, not the regular cash registers. The line s were shorter now, and the lady with the pins was doing what she usually does, helping people who didn’t like what they got. I didn’t like what I got, so I was in the right line. I practiced my speech to her over and over until it was my turn. Then my speech disappeared, but I told her I wanted to talk to the boss. Once again, everyone was staring at me.

Finally, the boss came, and he asked how he could help me. The words were like sharp little stones in my mouth as I said, “I’m just learning how to read, and my teacher says my name doesn’t look the same every time I write it because I’m just drawing a picture.” Now everyone was staring and listening. The boss put his arm around my shoulder, and took me to a section that wasn’t full of people. He listened to what I had to say, how I was addressing an envelope that day and how I had asked my teacher why my name looked different every time I wrote it and how the lady with the glasses had taken my card away and that was why Felicia’s present was under the counter.

The boss told me he admired me for learning to read. He wanted to shake my hand. I shook his had, but just then I was still waiting to see if I would get Felicia’s present. It wasn’t until after I got home that the moment sank in: the boss of a big store wanted to shake my hand because he admired me.

I did get the Polly Pocket Dream Home, the boss made sure of that, and Christmas was wonderful. Felicia was so happy with her gift, and that night when I tucked her in, I saw a lump underneath the covers. It was the Dream Home and all the Polly Pockets she owned.

In January, when I went to my next lessons, I told my teacher all about sitting in the car and talking to the boss and wrapping Felicia’s gift. She was quiet for a little bit, just looking at me. Then she said, “Raymond, you are my hero.”