Harold

By the time I got around to asking Harold, it wasn't even an ask any more. I had been turned down by so many persons who I knew had the skills to help me, but not the willingness, that when someone strongly suggested Harold - someone I didn't know quite as well as I knew the others I had asked - I was more than hesitant and already defeated. So instead of asking, I approached it as a statement. 

"Hey Harold, I've been looking for someone who can teach me how to change the brakes on my car. Do you know anybody?" 

I explained to him the folks I'd already asked, who would have been at the tops of his list, too, and how I had pretty good mechanical skills and more work ethic than I had money, and to my surprise, Harold said, "I can do it, but it'll be about a week and a half until I have some time. Can you be at my house next Thursday?" 

I'll be there. 

Thursday turned into Monday due to some kind of shift in schedule, but that Monday, I pulled into Harold's barn with my beat-up old car in my dirty work clothes, ready to learn how to change the brakes on my car. 

Unlike most men, who tend to automatically assume a request for automotive help from a young woman is a request for them to do the work, Harold had me do all of it, only stepping in when something was particularly tough. He would run over to his workbench and grab a tool, then put it in my hands and explain to me what I was doing. (I had some tools, but not nearly the array that Harold had.)

When one of the calipers seemed hopelessly stuck, Harold stepped in. Together, the two of us made an exceptionally large "cheater bar" (a long bar to get more leverage on turning a stuck part), and it took both of our body weight to snap loose the part we were working on. Harold just shook his head, looking at the rusted-out caliper in his well-worn farm hands, and asked, "Has this car been in the water?" 

No, Harold, I laughed. It's been in the weather. Ain't no such thing as a garage at my house. 

We laughed and carried on, but I have quoted that moment quite a many time since that day. 

It took us more than three hours to accomplish the job, which should have been a lot shorter than that, but all that weather on my car presented some unique challenges. Harold never lost patience, and he never took the project out of my hands. He was there to teach and to help when needed and to make sure the end result was, ultimately, safe for me to drive out of there on. And that's what he did. 

Those few hours with Harold in his barn have shaped the way that I teach and help others. I confess that I am sometimes an "I'll just do it myself" person; it can be tempting for me to just want to take over a project and do it when someone asks for help. But I remember Harold, and I remember that not everyone who asks for help wants someone to do it for them. Sometimes, they really just want a teacher, a friend, a mentor, a quality inspector - to make sure it's ultimately going to be safe for them to drive on out of there on their own work. 

So I try to do that. 

I spent more than three hours with Harold in his barn that Monday. Just a few days later, that same week (my brain says Friday, but I'm not 100% sure), Harold died. A freak accident. While packing for a trip with his wife, he accidentally knocked the battery on his heart pump loose and collapsed before anyone knew what was going on. By the time they figured it out, it was too late. Losing Harold was a big loss - a big loss. But I am eternally thankful for the time I spent with him - time that shaped me more than I was ever able to tell him. And I think about how hesitant I was to even ask him for help...and what I would have missed out on if I had waited even a few more days. 

And no, I'm not talking about my brakes.