I know its a long read and probally old as the internet but a friend sent me this and IMO I thought it was a good story and makes you realize what impact some people have on one another
Carl's Garden
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would
always greet you with a big smile and a firm
handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for
over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him
very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each
morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street
often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet
wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that
although he had survived WWII, he may not make it
through our changing uptown neighborhood with its
ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug
activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for
volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the
minister's residence, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare,
he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we
had always feared finally happened. He was just
finishing his watering for the day when three gang
members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to
intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a
drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking
of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent
little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the
other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As
the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing
everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his
retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled. Carl
tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down
on his bad leg.
He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister
came running to help him. Although the minister had
witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get
there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are
you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl
to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and
sighed, shaking his head.
"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday."
His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent
to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and
started to water. Confused and a little concerned, the
minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got
to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately",
came the calm reply.
Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the
minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a
different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before
their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them
a drink from his hose. This time they didn't rob him.
They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him
head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished
their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the
street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one
another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just
done.
Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the
warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on
with his watering. The summer was quickly fading into
fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled
by the sudden approach of someone behind him.
He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As
he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see
the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down
for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.
"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this
time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the
tattooed and scarred hand to Carl.
As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled
bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.
"What's this?" Carl asked.
"It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff
back -- even the money in your wallet."
"I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help
me now?"
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill
at ease. "I learned something from you", he said. "I
ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked
you because you were old and we knew we could do it.
But every time we came and did something to you,
instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to
give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you.
You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped
for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your
stuff, so here it is back." He paused for another
awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to
say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for
straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he
walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly
opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it
back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for
his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young
bride that still smiled back at him from all those
years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many
people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.
In particular the minister noticed a tall young man
that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant
corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's
garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with
unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your
garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget
Carl and his garden."
The following spring another flyer went up. It read:
"Person needed to care for Carl's garden." The flyer
went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day
when a knock was heard at the minister's office door.
Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred
and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this
is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who
had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He
knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life
around. As the minister handed him the keys to the
garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's
garden and honor him."
The man went to work and, over the next several years,
he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had
done. In that time, he went to college, got married,
and became a prominent member of the community. But he
never forgot
his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as
beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.
One day he approached the new minister and told him
that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He
explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just
had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home
on Saturday."
"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was
handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's
the baby's name?"
"Carl," he replied.
Carl's Garden
Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would
always greet you with a big smile and a firm
handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for
over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him
very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each
morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street
often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet
wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that
although he had survived WWII, he may not make it
through our changing uptown neighborhood with its
ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug
activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for
volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the
minister's residence, he responded in his
characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare,
he just signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we
had always feared finally happened. He was just
finishing his watering for the day when three gang
members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to
intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a
drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking
of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent
little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the
other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As
the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing
everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his
retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled. Carl
tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down
on his bad leg.
He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister
came running to help him. Although the minister had
witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get
there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are
you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl
to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and
sighed, shaking his head.
"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday."
His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent
to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and
started to water. Confused and a little concerned, the
minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got
to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately",
came the calm reply.
Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the
minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a
different time and place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before
their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them
a drink from his hose. This time they didn't rob him.
They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him
head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished
their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the
street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one
another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just
done.
Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the
warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on
with his watering. The summer was quickly fading into
fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled
by the sudden approach of someone behind him.
He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As
he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see
the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down
for him. He braced himself for the expected attack.
"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this
time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the
tattooed and scarred hand to Carl.
As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled
bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.
"What's this?" Carl asked.
"It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff
back -- even the money in your wallet."
"I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help
me now?"
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill
at ease. "I learned something from you", he said. "I
ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked
you because you were old and we knew we could do it.
But every time we came and did something to you,
instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to
give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you.
You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped
for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your
stuff, so here it is back." He paused for another
awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to
say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for
straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he
walked off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly
opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it
back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for
his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young
bride that still smiled back at him from all those
years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many
people attended his funeral in spite of the weather.
In particular the minister noticed a tall young man
that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant
corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's
garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with
unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your
garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget
Carl and his garden."
The following spring another flyer went up. It read:
"Person needed to care for Carl's garden." The flyer
went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day
when a knock was heard at the minister's office door.
Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred
and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this
is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who
had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He
knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life
around. As the minister handed him the keys to the
garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's
garden and honor him."
The man went to work and, over the next several years,
he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had
done. In that time, he went to college, got married,
and became a prominent member of the community. But he
never forgot
his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as
beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.
One day he approached the new minister and told him
that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He
explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just
had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home
on Saturday."
"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was
handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's
the baby's name?"
"Carl," he replied.
