The Story of Kyle

8/7/2019 The Story of Kyle

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THE STORY OF KYLE

One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class

walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was

carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring

home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd."

I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my

friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I

was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him,

knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the

dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet

from him. He looked up, and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes.

My heart went out to him. So I jogged over to him, and as he crawledaround looking for his glasses, I saw a tear in his eye. As I handed him his

glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives." He

looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It

was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books and asked him where he lived. As it

turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him

before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have

never hung out with a private school kid before, but we talked all the way

home, and I carried his books.

He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play

football on Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes.

We hung out all weekend, and the more I got to know Kyle, the more

I liked him. And my friends thought the same of him. Monday morning

came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him

and said, "Boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this

pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we

were seniors, we began to think about college. Kyle decided on

Georgetown, and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be

friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a

doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship.



Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the time about

being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it

wasn't me having to get up there and speak.

On graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those

guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually

looked good in glasses. He had more dates than me and all the girls loved

him! Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days. I could

see that he was nervous about his speech, so I smacked him on the back and

said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one of those

looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks," he said.

As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began.

"Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those

tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach -- but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to

someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story."

I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day

we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how

he had cleaned out his locker so his mom wouldn't have to do it later and

was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little

smile. "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the

unspeakable."

I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boytold us all about his weakest moment. I saw his mom and dad looking at me

and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize its

depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture, you

can change a person's life.



THE TAXI DRIVER

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a

life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was

also a ministry.

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving

confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and

told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me,

made me laugh and made me weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August

night.

I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part

of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone

who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at

some factory in the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single

light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers

would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had

seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only

means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went

to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, Ireasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear

something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door

opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print

dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s

movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no

one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. Therewere no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In

the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase

to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we

walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.



"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I

would want my mother treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me the address, then asked, "Could youdrive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind,"she

said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't

have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very

long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you

like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the

building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove

through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they

were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that

had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes

she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit

staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said,

"I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low

building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under

a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They

were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been

expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman

was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.



"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me

tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind

me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any

more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of

that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,

or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the

run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more

important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve

around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--

beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they

will always remember how you made them feel.

The Story of Kyle

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