The other day, I was talking with my oldest son about hitchhikers because we were watching a movie where the main character was hitchhiking, and we began commenting on how people just don't pick up hitchhikers anymore. It's just so dangerous. And it got me thinking about how it has probably always been pretty dangerous, but my dad didn't care about that kind of stuff. He was over six feet tall, leathery tan skin, and strong from being a carpenter. Maybe that helped him to not be afraid.
From a young age, I learned that Dad was just the type of guy who picked up hitchhikers. Well, maybe that's not completely accurate—he'd mostly stop for hitchhikers. Only sometimes did he risk his entire family's lives for the sake of those walking along streets and highways.
I remember clear as day us driving around town and driving to or from Mt. Charleston and driving to or from California and driving to or from anywhere, and if there was someone my dad saw walking or stranded, we'd stop. He'd ask where they were from and where they were headed, what they needed and how we could help. Sometimes, he'd help tinker with a broken down car or bicycle. Sometimes, they just needed someone to talk to, to check up on them, I think. One time, I remember on our way to Canada, we drove to the next town to pick up a part or something for a couple's car, and we drove back to drop it off. My mom was so irritated by this one. It put a serious delay in our trip's progress. It makes me laugh just thinking about her grumbling. She was so ancy on the way to our destinations and reluctant to leave on the way back home. But back to the point.
Sometimes, we'd actually pick the person (or people) up.
There was one time, we picked up a young adult couple. This one was fun to me for some reason. I was mystified by the young woman. She was just so tan and cool to me. On a side note, I actually have a cousin and her husband who remind me all the time of that couple we picked up and gave a ride to. They live in their van and mountain climb and travel all over. Maybe those two were just in between adventures when we picked them up.
The two people Dad picked up who I remember the most though are a father and daughter. My memory tells me that it was just me and Dad driving when we saw them walking along the blazing hot sidewalk on Nellis during one relentless Las Vegas summer.
Dad pulled over next to the little family walking and asked them if they needed a ride or a cool drink or some money. And next thing I know, they were getting into the van. The little girl sat next to me, and the dad was in the front passenger seat with my dad. I don't remember what they were saying exactly, but I think our next stop was to the Arco station to get giant 44-ouncers of soda pop with a ton of ice. That's something that could be from another memory, but it feels typical and probable. The next thing I remember is Dad driving us home and me taking the little girl to my room to play and her dad being welcomed into my parents' room to "cuss and discuss" as Dad would often call a discussion he was trying to lighten up.
The only other memory I have of the situation is how I shared my room with the girl for about two weeks (or so) while her father went back to where they were from and gathered their things and Dad helping line up a job for him when he got back to get his daughter. My parents gave the man money to get back home and back to Las Vegas to help him get on his feet.
I wish I knew the man's story, but I was truly too young to really comprehend it all. I just know I have a temporary sister out there somewhere that made my sisterless heart happy for a few weeks. And that my parents were amazing people who changed lives one person at time. And even more so that my dad was one brave dude picking up people and even bringing them home. What a way to be the Savior's hands.
From a young age, I learned that Dad was just the type of guy who picked up hitchhikers. Well, maybe that's not completely accurate—he'd mostly stop for hitchhikers. Only sometimes did he risk his entire family's lives for the sake of those walking along streets and highways.
I remember clear as day us driving around town and driving to or from Mt. Charleston and driving to or from California and driving to or from anywhere, and if there was someone my dad saw walking or stranded, we'd stop. He'd ask where they were from and where they were headed, what they needed and how we could help. Sometimes, he'd help tinker with a broken down car or bicycle. Sometimes, they just needed someone to talk to, to check up on them, I think. One time, I remember on our way to Canada, we drove to the next town to pick up a part or something for a couple's car, and we drove back to drop it off. My mom was so irritated by this one. It put a serious delay in our trip's progress. It makes me laugh just thinking about her grumbling. She was so ancy on the way to our destinations and reluctant to leave on the way back home. But back to the point.
Sometimes, we'd actually pick the person (or people) up.
There was one time, we picked up a young adult couple. This one was fun to me for some reason. I was mystified by the young woman. She was just so tan and cool to me. On a side note, I actually have a cousin and her husband who remind me all the time of that couple we picked up and gave a ride to. They live in their van and mountain climb and travel all over. Maybe those two were just in between adventures when we picked them up.
The two people Dad picked up who I remember the most though are a father and daughter. My memory tells me that it was just me and Dad driving when we saw them walking along the blazing hot sidewalk on Nellis during one relentless Las Vegas summer.
Dad pulled over next to the little family walking and asked them if they needed a ride or a cool drink or some money. And next thing I know, they were getting into the van. The little girl sat next to me, and the dad was in the front passenger seat with my dad. I don't remember what they were saying exactly, but I think our next stop was to the Arco station to get giant 44-ouncers of soda pop with a ton of ice. That's something that could be from another memory, but it feels typical and probable. The next thing I remember is Dad driving us home and me taking the little girl to my room to play and her dad being welcomed into my parents' room to "cuss and discuss" as Dad would often call a discussion he was trying to lighten up.
The only other memory I have of the situation is how I shared my room with the girl for about two weeks (or so) while her father went back to where they were from and gathered their things and Dad helping line up a job for him when he got back to get his daughter. My parents gave the man money to get back home and back to Las Vegas to help him get on his feet.
I wish I knew the man's story, but I was truly too young to really comprehend it all. I just know I have a temporary sister out there somewhere that made my sisterless heart happy for a few weeks. And that my parents were amazing people who changed lives one person at time. And even more so that my dad was one brave dude picking up people and even bringing them home. What a way to be the Savior's hands.
I really enjoyed reading your stories about picking up hitchhikers. My parents never did that, so it was fun to see it from your perspective as a child.
ReplyDeleteTotally love this.
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