The Writer's Pen
A Minute of Your Time
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Everyone who owns an automobile knows that regular maintenance is required. You need to keep the tank full of gas, the tires full of air and the engine full of oil. People also need regular maintenance. They need food to eat, clothes to wear and a place to sleep.
Growing up on a farm, I always had food, clothing and a place to sleep. I had duties around the house, as well as chores around the farm. I attended school during the week and church on Sunday morning. As far as I knew, I was living a normal American life. After all, our family drove a Chevrolet and we all liked baseball, hotdogs and apple pie.
Duties and expectations would vary from day to day on the farm, but there was always lots of things to accomplish. Baling hay, cleaning hog barns and milking cows seemed to take forever. Picking beans for supper, however, only took a minute.
We all had mentors in our lives, whether we knew it or not. A mentor can be a parent, grandparent or any role model. In my case, I don’t think I appreciated my mentors when I was young. My dad, for example, wanted me to work at a project until it was done. “Work real hard, and then play,” he would say. I thought that was totally backwards.
My Grandpa Brockshus was a big man, both physically and mentally. He was 11 years old when he lost his father, and as a result, had to figure out a lot of things on his own. I was in awe of the way he could splice a broken rope. He didn’t want to stop putting hay in the barn because of a broken rope, and he certainly didn’t want to buy and install a new one! He could splice that rope as quickly as a surgeon could set a broken bone. And, he never seemed to think that it was a big deal. After all, it would only take a minute.
When I got married and had children of my own, I tried to pass on some of the things I learned in my youth. I remember teaching my kids about the regular fueling, cleaning and maintenance of an automobile. I also taught them how to till, plant and weed a garden. However, both of those projects take time and effort. Calling in a pizza delivery order only takes a minute.
Our kids are grown now and have moved into homes of their own. Because they no longer live close, my wife and I have both developed other interests to occupy our time. One of the things I did for a while was become a mentor in a Kinship program. The program no longer exists, but at the time was under the direction of the YMCA. The mentors in this program were asked to take a child for at least one year and meet with them for an average of one hour per week – very similar to the Big Brother programs in larger cities.
The first mentee I teamed with was Nathan, an 11-year-old boy that lived three blocks from our house. The family didn’t have much money and could barely afford the necessities of life. Nathan had been diagnosed with ADHD and was on a lot of medications. He was quite lethargic, supposedly a normal side effect. He always thanked me for spending time with him, but I often wondered if he knew what was going on around him, and if he really appreciated the time we spent together.
Nathan and I spent about six years together. We became more involved with each other’s lives when he went off his meds at age 14. One of the things we liked to do was drive through the local car lots to look at pickups and sports cars. He would point to a vehicle he liked, knowing that I would tell him it was impractical. Finally, at age 17 he was too busy to have a mentor, and we both moved on.
When I retired, we bought a camper with the intention of spending time with our kids and grandkids. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a pickup big enough to pull the camper, so I went to a local dealership to trade for something larger. Imagine my surprise when I discovered Nathan working in their shop. He told me what a good practical trade I had made! He said to make sure to bring it back to him for regular maintenance.
A few months later I was at a customer’s house blowing snow. It was a narrow street and I got stuck turning around. I engaged the four-wheel drive, but nothing happened! When I got shoveled out I went to the dealership and told them what happened. Nathan showed me how to lock in the wheel hubs. “No big deal,” he said. “It only takes a minute.”
Roger Brockshus and his wife, Rita, live in Spirit Lake. They are mostly retired, but volunteer in their church and community. Roger is a member of both the Hartley Writer’s Group and Poetry Group. He has had short stories and poetry published, and recently self-published a book about his family.
