Though he’d just moved to an unfamiliar town, Rawly wasn’t on the lookout for a playmate. Having found seeking friendships hurtful, the heavyset eighth-grader didn’t complain when he discovered the small ranches throughout his new neighborhood were occupied by sluggish retirees.
Given the chore of getting the daily mail, Rawly exited his front door. As the youngster crossed his lawn, an elder fellow, who lived in the home across the street, sprung from his porch rocker, then also headed for the day’s delivery. Positioned side by side on the edge of the elder’s yard, the mailboxes brought the two together.
“Hello, I’m Usto,” called out the hunched, hobbling old man without removing the cigarette jiggling in his mouth.
“Hi, I’m Rawly,” answered the boy.
“If you’re interested and your parents approve, there’s some summer mowing money to be made at my place,” noted Usto, pointing to his front lawn with his cane.
“I’ll ask them,” replied Rawly before grabbing his family’s mail, then turning to leave.
Usto had another offer. “I’ll also have some snow shoveling when winter arrives that’ll give a young strapping fellow, like yourself, a little spending cash.”
Sensing the elder was, in fact, trying to bring about a lengthy conversation, Rawly was abrupt when he twisted to answer. “I stink at chitchat.”
“My sweet departed wife, Mirrell, taught youngsters for 30 years,” shared Usto, suddenly choked up. “You would have found her easy to talk to,” he added with a quiver before finally removing the cigarette from his lips.
The old man’s trembling voice and watering eyes left Rawly anxious to scoot. He got sad quick, thought the boy before blurting a reply. “I like nice teachers. . . . I guess everyone does.”
“She was tops—none better,” assured Usto with a sniffle.
Determined to be on his way, Rawly gave a brief nod and smile. “It’s my job to bring back the mail; so, I gotta get going,” he noted before again pivoting to head home.
“Thanks for talking to me,” said a grateful Usto, hoping for more chats.
He’s gonna be watching for me, privately fussed Rawly as he picked up his pace.
After returning home and placing the mail on the kitchen table, Rawly caught the tale end of a familiar argument between his parents. Despite rushing to his room and closing the door, he continued to overhear the dispute.
“As soon as I get a promotion, we’ll get a better place!” loudly promised Rawly’s stout father.
The boy’s mother shouted her reply. “Why don’t we ever move to where I find a job? The answer is our lives revolve around you! What about what I want?” she complained.
“I’m doing the best I can,” insisted the father.
“You’re not listening to me!” fumed the mother before growling the accusation usual when she was about to put a door between her and Rawly’s father. “You don’t care about what I need!”
Sure following his wife into their bedroom would be a mistake, the father, who had long struggled with losing weight, did what was usual for him after a quarrel: He focused on food. While heading for a countertop to grab his car keys, he spotted Rawly exiting his bedroom. “Come with me, Rawly,” he called.
“We’re headed out for lunch, right?” asked Rawly, familiar with how his dad reacted to distressful times.
“I’m in the mood for an all-we-can-eat treat,” declared the father.
During the drive to the restaurant, Rawly’s father was still upset. “I suppose you heard your mother and me get loud,” he regretted.
“Mom wants a better house,” answered Rawly.
“And a better neighborhood,” added the father.
“Showing you care for someone takes a lot of money when you become an adult,” assumed Rawly, wary of such a responsibility.
His father took a deep breath before speaking somberly. “I know you’ve heard your mother say I don’t care about what she needs. . . . While that may be how she sometimes feels, it’s not true. You know it’s not true, right?” asked the father.
“Yeah. I know you’re doing your best. What’s a guy to do when his wife wants more caring than he can afford?” wondered Rawly.
After hearing his son’s blunt reply, the father slumped, then glumly answered. “Guys gotta keep trying. . . . Showing we care is sometimes hard.”
Rawly tried to show he understood. “It’s sometimes super hard. . . . That’s why guys like to wolf a big meal, right?”
Caught off guard by Rawly’s remark, the father glanced at his son. “What’s eating got to do with finding it hard to care the way somebody wants?”
“Eating lets us feel we’re at least good at filling our bellies,” grinned Rawly.
“That sounds pathetic. . . . Eating just calms us down. . . . There’s no more to it,” suggested the father with a frown.
“One thing is for sure: Food taste too good!” replied Rawly, wanting them to agree.
Suddenly feeling he wasn’t setting a good example for his son, the father made different lunch plans. “Let’s split a veggie sub, and get bottles of water instead of sodas.
Rawly grimaced.
During the week that followed, Rawly didn’t exit the front door of his house until he looked out a window to make sure Usto wasn’t in view. In particular, he checked to make sure the elder wasn’t sitting in one of the two wooden rockers on his front porch. Because it was usual for Usto to rock for a spell mornings and afternoons, avoiding him when getting the mail required a well-timed sprint.
“Why do you keep looking out the window,” asked Rawly’s mother as she entered the room to find him pulling back a curtain. “Are you getting bullied by someone in the neighborhood?”
“No,” assured Rawly.
His mother wasn’t convinced. “Then why are you glancing out a front window so much?”
“I got the willies when I met the old man who lives across the street. . . . That he wants to pay me to do some mowing and shoveling is OK, but I don’t want the chatting,” answered Rawly as sat on the sofa.
“What do you mean you got the willies?” asked his mother.
“Like I said, I’d like to get the mail without having to chat. . . . I think he wants to get me on his porch for a really long, boring chitchat,” explained Rawley.
“Did he comment on your weight?” asked his mother before launching into one of her usual reminders. “Like I keep telling you, those extra pounds you need to lose are gonna give you heart problems, just like those in your father’s family?”
“I just don’t want to chitchat,” repeated Rawly.
The mother was quick to become critical of her neighbor. “Every time I spot the old man he’s got a cigarette in his mouth,” she criticized.
“Something as simple as getting the mail shouldn’t be a hassle,” whined Rawly.
“Just tell him your parents said you can work for him, but they don’t want you around secondhand smoke,” instructed the mother.
“He misses his dead wife an awful lot. Maybe you could talk with him,” suggested Rawly.
“He needs a social worker,” said his mother. . . . “Anyway, no need to worry today and maybe a few more days. An ambulance took him away late last night. Our next-door neighbor told me his smoking puts him in the hospital every so often.”
Rawly slumped shoulders. “Is there a chance he’ll die?” he somberly asked.
“Who knows! Chain smoking certainly isn’t extending his life,” pointed out the mother.
“He just wants to talk for a few minutes now and then,” murmured Rawly, struggling with a sudden wave of shame.
Rawly’s mother remained unsympathetic. “You can be a do-gooder if you bump into him at the mailboxes, but it’ll have to be quick if he’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The old man is free to do himself in, but not others,” she noted before changing the subject. “I had Dad fill up the mower. Start in the backyard.”
In the days that followed, Rawly looked out a living room window mornings and afternoons again and again. Unlike before Usto had been taken away in an ambulance, the youngster now very much wanted to see the elder rocking.
The good news Rawly was hoping for arrived eight days after Usto had been brought to the hospital. An after lunch random check on the elder’s possible return paid off. Rawly spotted his neighbor heading for his rocker. Undeterred by the sight of a lit cigarette, the youngster bolted toward the mail boxes.
“Do you mind bringing me my mail?” asked Usto while pointing to his newly acquired walker—a contraption he now needed to get around.
“I’ll be right there with it,” answered Rawly, pleased to have the opportunity to be helpful.
Before taking the mail from Rawly, Usto put out his cigarette. “Smoking is a horrible habit. Do you have a few moments to rock?”
“I do,” answered Rawly as he sat. “I’m in the rocker your wife sat in, right?” he asked.
“I sometimes close my eyes and pretend she’s next to me,” answered Usto.
“It’ll always be her rocker. Anyone else who sits in it is just borrowing it for a short while,” understood Rawly, trying hard to please Usto.
A solemn Usto appreciated the regard. “Thanks for saying that, Rawly.”
“You must have really felt cared for by Mirrell,” noted Rawly.
“There’s not much of a demand for homely scrape-by sorts. Mirrell made me feel I mattered way beyond what I deserved,” lamented Usto.
“I wish my parents spent time in side-by-side rockers,” shared Rawly.
“Hmmm. . . ,” said Usto, not wanting to pry. “Have you thought about making some mowing money?”
“It would help me lose some chubbiness,” noted Rawly before taking a deep breath, then divulging what had been on his mind. “It’s hard to care about yourself when you keep doing things you know aren’t nice.”
Believing the youngster had more to say, Usto remained silent as he slowed his rocking.
Rawly let more honesty flow. “The reason you didn’t see me the week after we first met is because I though you were looking for a friend,” he admitted.
Usto again patiently waited for Rawly to continue.
“I always mess up friendships,” further shared Rawly.
Usto bowed his head. “Sad-sacks, like me, can be a pest.”
“And scared-sacks, like me, can be unkind. . . . Hearing you were brought to the hospital made it too hard to pretend I wasn’t afraid of being nice,” confessed Rawly.
“Owning when we think we’ve been a thumbs-down person takes courage,” noted Usto as he began rocking a bit faster.
Feeling somewhat relieved, Rawly also quickened his swaying. “If I didn’t admit I was afraid, I would have missed out on feeling better about myself,” he realized.
Wanting to be especially genuine, Usto sought eye contact. “Please know, Rawly, that thought I’m here when you’d like to chat, I consider a brief wave when we see each other to be a sufficient show of friendship.”
Immediately after exiting his front door the next morning, Rawly’s dad spotted something unexpected—something that caused him to reenter the house and call to his wife. “Hey, the two rockers I’m assuming you had delivered are on the porch!”
After rushing from the kitchen, Rawly’s mom led the way to the porch. “I have no idea where they came from. . . . There’s something taped to an armrest,” she noted as she reached for a card she read out loud: “Just a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gesture. When alongside a caring companion, I’ve found it’s possible to sway one’s way to much closeness and serenity.”
Finding the oak rockers inviting, the mother sat in one. After gently gripping the smooth armrests, she began a soothing back and forth rhythm. “What a generous, calming gift. . . . Try the other one,” she encouraged.
Soon rocking in the other chair, Rawly’s dad turned toward his wife with warm eyes. “I want to be the caring companion mentioned in the note,” he shared as he extended a hand toward his wife.
Impacted by how long it had been since they’d held hands, Rawly’s mom briefly hesitated before makinf contact. “Me, too,” she tenderly replied.
Next to exit the house, Rawly was happily surprised to find his parents not only sitting in rockers but also sharing a heartfelt moment. “I’d like to be the one who thanks Usto,” he cheerfully requested.
“Are you sure the chairs are from him?” asked his mother.
“I’m very sure. . . . If you see him sitting out, a quick wave from you will do,” advised Rawly
1. Why did Rawly avoid Usto in the beginning of the story?
2. Why did the mother feel the father wasn’t listening to her?
3. Why did hearing Usto was brought to the hospital change how Rawly felt about himself?
4. What are some good ways to show you care for another?
5. How might a rocking chairs help people?”