I had to change a flat tire a few days ago and while loosening the lug nuts, I remembered a story my father related to me on more than one occasion. When I first heard it as a kid, I thought of it simply as a good joke. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that many of Dad’s “jokes” were really teaching stories.
I’d always thought of this one as Dad’s Jack Story but some research revealed this was the actor and comedian Danny Thomas’ signature story. Here it is.
There’s this traveling salesman who gets stuck one night on a lonely country road with a flat tire and no jack. So he starts walking toward a service station about a mile away, and as he walks, he talks to himself. “How much can he charge me for renting a jack?” he thinks. “One dollar, maybe two. But it’s the middle of the night, so maybe there’s an after-hours fee. Probably another five dollars. If he’s anything like my brother-in-law, he’ll figure I got no place else to go for the jack, so he’s cornered the market and has me at his mercy. Ten dollars more.
He goes on walking and thinking, and the price and the anger keep rising. Finally, he gets to the service station and is greeted cheerfully by the owner: “What can I do for you, sir?” But the traveling salesman will have none of it. “You got the nerve to talk to me, you robber,” he says. “You can take your stinkin’ jack and . . .”
I’ve been down that road with a flat tire and no jack more times than I like to admit. Making an assumption, creating scenarios from it, working myself into a state, and acting in accordance… but of course, not acting in accordance with what was REALLY happening in the moment.
Years ago, we moved into a new neighborhood. Our son was fourteen and fond of blasting rap music on his boom-box through his open window. We had a neighbor two doors down, an older woman who we would often see walking past our house, or several miles away making a long loop home. Her stride was always fast and determined. She looked rigidly straight ahead, and it seemed to us that she had a perpetually angry and sour look on her face.
When she walked by our house she never slowed or made the slightest gesture in our direction. We assumed that she was annoyed by the sound of that rap music and wrote us off as rude neighbors. She didn’t like us and she really didn’t like our son.
It was about 5 or 6 years before we ever spoke a word to her. She was still walking that long loop every day. She knocked on our door and introduced herself to my wife who was home at the time. The purpose of her visit? She asked Liz if she could pick some of the wildflowers that were growing in our front yard. (We’d traded our small lawn for wildflowers and a raised bed vegetable area.) She said that the flowers were for her son who had recently been diagnosed with late-stage cancer and that he loved wildflowers.
Then she shared more of her story.
We learned that just about the time that we’d moved in her husband had died of cancer. Those long walks were her way of healing from this great loss. What we’d interpreted as anger was much more about that loss. For six wasted years, we’d made assumptions and made up a story to go with it that had shut the door on the possibility of knowing our neighbor and what she was going through.
More years passed, and the time came when Liz and I jumped at an opportunity to move to New Mexico and continue our storytelling work here. It also seemed to be the right time for our son to finally be out on his own. When our neighbor learned that we were leaving, she immediately asked what our son would do? Where would he live? Did he need a place to stay? She would be happy to offer him a room in her house. She had always thought that he was such a fine young man.
I sit here and wonder what other opportunities for authentic engagement with others I’ve missed, what problems I might have more easily solved, and what challenges more easily overcome had I not filled my mind with assumptions, scenarios, and limiting beliefs. When I catch myself doing this, I remember the Jack Story. Danny Thomas told it. My father told it. I’ve told it. Now you can tell it too!
More importantly, and especially considering these polarized times, let’s stay open to the possibility that the stories we tell ourselves about other people, especially people who we disagree with, may not be as ‘true’ as we allow ourselves to believe.
We’re still growing wildflowers. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, knock on my door… you’re always welcome to pick them.. or borrow a jack if you need one!
Originally posted on Story Tellers Campfire.
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