Interested, I paused. "What words would those be?" I asked curiously.
He looked at me for a minute, then said, "'Nancy bought a truck.'"
I started laughing. "Oh yeah, so you heard about that huh?"
Nancy, by the way, is my mom. Now, my mother, as some of you may know, has a very big heart. She makes sure that her retirement investment account only has companies from the "socially conscious fund," even though, as you might imagine, the profit margins from those companies can be lower. She's always ready to lend a helping hand, and has a love that knows no bounds. She's "adopted" countless children and grandchildren over the years as a mentor or just a surrogate mother-figure of sorts for people who are in need of love and comfort.
In short, Mom's just an all-around nice person -- but not exactly someone that you would think would be in the market for a truck. And certainly not a 1979 Chevy four-wheel-drive pickup truck.
What Dad didn't know was, that Mom didn't technically buy a truck. You see, for some time now, she's been looking for ways to help out some friends of hers who are suffering financial difficulties. She couldn't just offer to give them money, for reasons ranging from the fact that they're the kind of people who wouldn't accept "charity," and because she didn't want them to come to depend on her for that kind of help, given that she generally doesn't have much money herself.
We'd talked about this before, and gone back and forth about how Mom might help them with their own business, maybe mentoring them or giving them marketing advice, and so forth, but nothing really came of that.
Well, as it turns out, the friends had a truck. This was the perfect situation for Mom. She could give them money by buying the truck from them. After all, the truck ran. Sure, it had some issues, but she figured she could give it to my brother or some charity or something, and her main goal of giving her friends some money would have been accomplished.
She called and told me the whole story, including the fact that my brother did not want the truck, that it had some mechanical issues, and that she couldn't even get a charity to take it because it was too old. She was trying to figure out how to get rid of it.
"Well, why don't you ask Charlie?" I asked her. Charlie is our resident car guy. He can do a lot of work on a lot of different vehicles, and the work he can't do himself, he knows who to go to to do it.
"Ask Charlie what?" he said suspiciously, having overheard this last part of the phone conversation.
"Mom has acquired a '79 Chevy four-wheel-drive pickup, and wants to know if you might want it to work on," I told him, covering up the phone.
"Does it run?" he asked, still skeptical.
"Yeah, but mom says it needs some work. Maybe a lot of work," I replied.
After a bit of back and forth, I gave up, and said, "Here, Mom, you talk to him," and forced the phone on Charlie.
They chatted for a bit, and Charlie said he'd be glad to look at it and see if it was worth saving. They met on Saturday morning to pick up the truck, and, with no few trepidations on Charlie's part, brought it back to the house.
[to be continued]