Special thanks to Mark Davis of Ruidoso, New Mexico, for giving permission to reprint his story. The story first appeared as a "Daily Hearwarmer" from Heartwarmers.com. It is not really a "giving" story. It's more about giving back! Mark learned that giving back is sometimes the manly, to say nothing of Christian thing to do. He describes himself as a single father of three awesome kids who challenge the depths of his love daily.
"Mark is putting boogers in my doll's hair!"
So began our summer vacation. I was nine years old, giddy about seeing the Grand Canyon. It was my turn to pick this year's family vacation, and when I saw the Grand Canyon's yawning beauty in Technicolor on our living room television set, I knew where we were going that summer. The year before my sister had picked Mount Rushmore, which would've been really cool if she hadn't been sick the whole time, throwing up in the car all over my GI Joe and at every rest stop.
It would be a long drive to Arizona from our home in southeastern New Mexico. We played the typical road games. I would spot a word on a billboard, and my sister would have to find another word starting with the last letter of the word I had found. If I was lucky enough to find a word that ended in an odd letter like "z" then it would keep her quiet long enough for me to flip through a pile of my favorite Marvel comics.
Dad pulled into the parking lot of a rustic cabin that doubled as a gas station. On the top step, leading to the entrance, was a wooden Indian in a feathered headdress and a grim expression. After using the facilities, Dad allowed us to browse through the store due to its unique setting filled with turquoise-studded baskets, hand-painted pottery, wool blankets, and other Native-American mementos. An air conditioner in the front window cooled the store with a mechanical rattling.
I was drawn eye-level to a beautiful brown horse frozen in step on a glass shelf. It would be a perfect addition to my OK Corral buddies at home. I picked it up carefully and stroked the smoothness of its plastic body, perfect indeed.
After engaging in small talk with the owner of the store -- a kindly old man who reminded me of Granddad with his twinkly eyes -- Dad paid for the gas, filled the family-sized thermos with fresh ice water, paid for the merchandise, and we were back on the road again.
Three hours later...
"MOM!" my sister shrieked.
Mom turned around wearily. "What is it, dear?"
"Mark won't share his horsey with me!"
"Mark, share your horsey -- what in tarnation?" her eyes widened in
shock. Then she tugged on Dad's sleeve and said, "Honey, you need to pull
over!"
The station wagon lurched off the asphalt and screeched to a halt on the shoulder
in a massive cloud of dust.
"Mark?" Mom asked. "Honey, where did you get that horsey?"
"At the cabin with the Indian on the porch."
Mom glanced sharply at Dad. "Did you buy that for him?"
"No. Didn't you?"
I clutched the horse to my chest. A knot of fear began to grow in my stomach. This was not going to end well. I don't know why I carried the toy out of the store with me. I knew better, but figured if no one noticed it was okay. I mean, how could they not see a boy carting a big plastic horse out of the store?
"No, I didn't buy it for him," Mom said. "Mark, we're going back to that store to return the horse, and you're going to apologize to that sweet old man for stealing it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"M-o-o-o-oom!" I whined. But the pinched look on her face shut me up on the spot. I pouted the whole three hours back to the store, struggling for a decent reason why I walked out of the store with my prized possession.
We stepped inside the dimness of the store, and there he was...the man who reminded me of my granddad. I was afraid that after I told him what a sorry boy I was, he would never have twinkly eyes again. He would always hate little boys because of me. Dad whispered something to him as I stepped forward.
"This -- this is yours," I stammered, extending the toy to him. "I took this horse from your store. I'm sorry, and I promise I won't ever, ever do it again."
The man came around from behind the counter -- as there were no customers -- and got down on his knees. "Do you know that it takes a big boy to return something that's not his?" I just stared down at the floor, my lower lip trembling. "But that it takes a man to keep a promise?"
Blinking back tears, I stood there surprised as the old man wrapped me in his arms and gave me a bear hug. And you know what? When he leaned back and took out his cotton hanky from his back pocket to wipe my eyes and blow my nose, he still had twinkly eyes...just like my granddad.
And so, to this day, I will always associate the Grand Canyon with the summer I became a man.
-- Mark Davis