Last weekend I got stuck in the snow for the second time this season.
Normally, I try to hibernate between November and February so these things won’t happen, but this year my routine has changed. The children have started paper routes, so we have to leave the house every day, whether I like it or not.
A couple of weeks ago, during the snowstorm, I was pulling up next to a mailbox and slid right into the ditch. I was being closely followed by a gentleman in a pick-up truck who promptly jumped out and ran into the snowdrift to help. Soon, my favorite town Marshal arrived and between the two of them they pulled my van back onto the road.
As we were driving away I remarked to my children how fortunate we were to have an angel following right behind us. My daughter dryly observed, “I don’t think angels smoke cigars, Mom.”
Being that I’m thoroughly ensconced in the Christmas spirit, I prefer to think of him as an angel, even if his halo was made of smoke.
Saturday morning when I backed out of a subscriber’s driveway and continued backwards into a giant snowdrift, there were no angels following me, so, I put my daughter behind the wheel and trudged into the snow. Bracing my shoulder against the back of the van, I called out for her to push the accelerator. “What’s an accelerator?” she called back.
Sighing, I marched back through the snow and gave her a quick driving lesson. After much tire squealing, lots of smoking rubber, and a few tears because she thought she had killed me when she pushed the accelerator and brake simultaneously, I realized this was not the day my eight year old would learn to drive.
Instead, I pulled out my window scraper, dropped to my knees, and went to work digging snow away from the tires. I was wet, cold, tired, and frustrated because I really needed to be home, cooking for the 100 people that would be coming to my house that evening.
I dug every ounce of snow from under the van, and still it would not budge. After begging and pleading with God to do something, He prompted me to take extra newspapers and pile them under the tires. Quick as a wink I was back on the road.
Really, the whole newspaper route business has been quite interesting. We are country folk, so walking around town every day has been a new experience for my kids. My son makes the most of it, going uptown to buy pop, stopping at IGA to purchase candy, or trying his luck at the claw machine.
After his first night on the route, he got a call from Mel’s World of Spirits. I inquired as to why the liquor store would be calling an eleven-year-old, and was told that he’d lost money in their outdoor soda machine and they wanted to let him know his dad could come in for reimbursement.
He’s had other interesting experiences too. He found a puppy, and after carrying it from house to house looking for the owners, was rewarded with $2.50.
Another time, just before heading out on his route, he told me his belly was hurting. I chalked it up to the junk food he’d been eating all day while hanging out with a buddy, and sent him on his way. When I came to pick him up he informed me that he threw up in someone’s yard.
Being a good, conscientious boy, he didn’t just run away, hoping not to get caught. He took the initiative to go to the door and let them know what had happened. I asked how they responded, and he said the man told him, “That’s okay. I used to be a paper boy, and once I threw up in someone’s yard too.”
I don’t know if that gentleman really was a vomiting paper boy, or he made the story up for my son’s sake, but I’m grateful for his kind-hearted approach to a potentially traumatizing situation.
Last week, as I went to gather my children from their various spots about town, I could see from a block away that son’s eyes were shining with excitement.
“Look what I found!” he exclaimed. With great flourish he reached into his bag and pulled out a dead fish he had shoved into an orange, plastic, newspaper sleeve. “There was a whole bunch of ’em just laying in the snow!” he exulted.
“Wow!” I replied. “This is almost as good as the one-legged, toy dinosaur you found yesterday!”
Subscribers have given him homemade sugar cookies, candy bars, and exciting stuff to talk about. This past weekend he got into the van inquiring, “Do you have any idea how many old men I’ve seen in their underwear today?”
“I couldn’t even venture to guess,” I replied.
The answer was five. Apparently, even in 10 degree weather, the men in Mayberry don’t find it necessary to don clothing before fetching their Saturday morning paper.
Yes, newspaper delivery has been quite an interesting experience for the entire family. Two of my children have received several Christmas tips and it’s great to see them rewarded for their dedication. They are out there every day, without complaint, no matter the temperature or weather conditions.
My youngest is just as dedicated, but hasn’t received any tips yet.
Because she’s only eight, I keep her with me and we do a route that is mostly driving. She hops in and out of the van, trudging through the snow, to make sure each paper is delivered exactly where the subscriber wants it. Since no one ever sees her, she’s pretty sure she won’t get any tips. I’m proud that in spite of her disappointment she is still happy for her brother and sister when they receive candy or money for Christmas.
And who knows? Maybe there will be another angel somewhere along B Street, Grant, Oak, W. Main, N. Vine, Plum, Church, or Wesley Court, that will be kind enough to leave her a chocolate bar or a dollar or two. But, hopefully, no cigars.
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