Story © by Tucker aka Riskall 1998
All Rights Reserved

MY JOURNEY

by: Tucker aka Riskall

If life is a journey,   then my life has been a travel to redemption.   Perhaps everyone's is,   I would not dare to assume so,   as I only know my story,   my life,   my journey.   I also know I wouldn't have found any peace or redemption with out the love,   help,   clarity of advice,   guidance,   and the faith other people gave me.

I would love to say that I am all that I ever wanted to be as a man, that however would not be true. Yet, standing here looking back at my yesterdays, I can say I am more than what I was. That gives me hope I may yet get even closer toward my goal. Today unlike the beginning of my journey I now accept that the price for advancement toward being a good man will be in gracefully accepting the help and support of the people in my life. In return I would like to pass it on.

I was 19 years old and at a cross roads in life when I met him. He was 65 and at a crises in his. I was hitchhiking out of California with a new backpack loaded with what was left of my life, and damn near broke. He was driving back from Detroit after an unsuccessful hunt for work in a pickup that had seen its best days almost 3 decades ago, to a wife who was sick and farm that was about to be gone. I had been on the road for three years and thought I was old. He had been around the world and seen 2 wars, he knew he was old. It is strange, what the hands of fate throw at us. An old man, tired yet dutifully going on with his life, and a cynical boy running from his.

He had picked me up 5 miles outside of Memphis on a hot, humid southern Sunday. It was one of those days only found in the south, where the smell of magnolias competes with the azaleas, filling the thick air with a perfume that almost, yet not quite, covers the odor of decaying plant life. In short, it was a perfect southern Sunday. To this day I do not know if that was the reason we opened up to each other or if it was simply that we knew we would never see one another again. What ever the cause we both had need of confession. No, not confession of our sins but confessions of our fears and to share with one other person that we had no idea how the current situation would pan out. There seemed to be a need to confess that we both had no idea where to go and what to do except to keep trying and hope there would come some break.

I had yet to really learn fear or even hopelessness, he had seen the face of the beast and felt too tired to go out and do battle. All these things we confessed to each other in a few short miles and a couple of cigarettes. We, I, found some solace that day.

I also saw the man I would like to be in the face of a man worn down but not ready to give up. He still carried his dignity and did not complain, he would do what life asked and not even wonder whether or not it was fair. I saw quiet courage that day.

As he dropped me off he handed me five dollars and told me to get something to eat. I didn't want his money, I thought he needed it more. I only relented at his insistence. What I did not realize then is that he needed to able to do at least one small act of helping another person. What he did not realize and neither did I at the time, was that he had given me so much more.

I don't remember his name and don't remember where he lives though he offered to have me stay, even gave me his phone number and address. I often times wish I did remember, and had kept those numbers, I would like to thank him.

Today I drive an old 1960 Chevy pickup, and while I have not been around the world, or been to any wars, I have been around the block and know what it is like to be shot at. Sometimes while heading out to a job or driving back home I will pick up a hitch hiker and give them a ride, even if it is only for a few miles. I will often share them some smokes and as I let them out, hand them a five dollar bill, or whatever is in my pocket. Call it imitation, call it paying back a good deed, but what it is really about is being able to help someone out in greater need than I.

This may not sound like redemption but for me that old mans example has become my standard. Where ever he is, I send him my thanks and my blessings. Vaya con dios compadre.

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