Everybody Needs a Jason

I have this little playhouse in town (mentioned in previous blogs), my happy place, my hideout, my escape, and apparently the location where I’m routinely reminded I’m not 25 anymore. The other day I decided to take out a big, overgrown bush that was projecting out enough to cover one third of the driveway.

Simple enough project, right? Well, by the time I was done, I looked like I’d been dueling it out with the bush and the bush won. My sunglasses sliding down my nose, I was hot, sweaty and crabby. And why in early June, are we already dealing with this kind of heat and humidity?

As I was dragging branches and putting them into a pile, I remembered something from last summer. I was doing yardwork then too, muttering to myself, “Why don’t I know a local handyman who wants to make a few bucks? I’d gladly pay someone to do the fall and spring cleanup. Plus, odd jobs as they came up.”

I walked inside, checked the mail and sitting right there inside the mailbox – like a message straight from the universe to me personally, was a little handwritten note:

“Will do yardwork. Reasonable rates. Give me a call.”

I called. I didn’t hesitate.

He answered.

And that’s how Jason came into my life.

Since then, Jason has mowed my lawn, raked leaves, trimmed bushes, shoveled snow, and even helped me haul in a heavy piece of furniture. All I need to do is message him, and he’s there within a reasonable amount of time. He needs the work, but what I love is that he appreciates getting the work. Sometimes I think he wishes it would rain more often just so the grass would grow faster and he could mow twice a week.

Jason lives in a group home, and while I don’t know his whole story – nor do I need to – I know enough through short conversations to understand he hasn’t had an easy road. He’s told me bits and pieces. He could have easily gone down the wrong path, never to return. But during those times he ventured down the wrong path, he turned around and tried again. He believes in working hard and earning an honest dollar, and that’s exactly what he does.

One morning when he came to mow, I was at the house. Watching him walking up, pushing his mower, I couldn’t help but laugh. He had saved up to buy a brand-new mower, and bungee-corded to it, were his leaf blower, a rake, and a 12-pack of beer. He didn’t try to hide it or apologize. He just said very matter of factly, “Heh, I’m an alcoholic. But it doesn’t affect my work. If you have a problem with it, I’ll leave the beer at home.”

I told him I appreciated his honestly and could he do my job first thing in the morning before the others? We both chuckled at that and he said if I ever felt he wasn’t doing a good enough job, to let him know.

And then came yesterday.

After whacking away at my shrub, I messaged him: “Call you come help me load this into the back of my pickup?”

He didn’t see the message until hours later and messaged back saying if I could have my pickup at the house by 9am the next morning, he’d be there. I did. And he was.

It didn’t take him 10 minutes. I could have easily done it, now that I wasn’t feeling the exhaustion from cutting it down, but he could use the money.

I asked him how much I owed him, and he said, “Fifteen, twenty bucks – whatever you think.” Then he pointed to my pickup and said he’d hoped by now he’d have a pickup of his own for doing exactly this kind of work – helping people clean up, haul branches, limbs, brush, whatever.

But then he told me why he didn’t.

He said he had to give his sister $1,500 to buy a grave marker for their mother. “She died back in 2013,” he said. “She wasn’t the best mom in the world… but I got a few memories that tell me she did the best she could. And she was a nurse, so she had to have had a good heart. We just felt we owed her that much – to get her a gravestone.”

With a smile on his face, he described it: “It’s really pretty. It’s got gold in it – not real gold, but gold-plated or something – and they even had a little nurse hat that they could etch onto it so people know she was a nurse.”

As he walked away and I grabbed my blower to clean up the last of the mess, I felt that tug in my chest – the one that makes you want to hand someone $1,500 and say, “Here, go get your truck.” Not sure what kind of a truck $1,500 can buy, but that’s none of my business.

This man lives day-to-day, picking up jobs, probably just trying to keep himself in beer and cigarettes. And you know what? It’s his money. He earns it. He can spend it however he wants.

I asked him what he was going to do the rest of his day. He said not much. He had drunk too much the night before and he was dragging. But, he had plans to go to the community kitchen later on for a meal.

“Oh, we have food at our home,” he said, “but when I go to the community kitchen, I feel like I’m dining out.”

Dining out.

That one got me.

He didn’t say it for sympathy. He didn’t say it for effect. He said it because that’s his life. And hearing it made me feel two things at once: a little guilty and a whole lot grateful.

As long as he keeps doing a good job and putting in the effort, I’ll be there for him.

Driving away with the brush in the back of the pickup, I couldn’t get him off my mind. I thought about him going to the community kitchen, feeling like he was “dining out.” And I decided the next time he was doing a job for me, I’d at least have a plate of cookies ready for him.

I remembered one time I gave him a ride home and had half a sandwich in a to-go container. Before he got out, I reached into the backseat and said, “Jason, could you use this? I promise I didn’t bite off it, but cut it in half.” His eyes lit up.

“Oh boy, would I! Thank you, thank you so much. Oh, what a treat.” And you know what? He wouldn’t have cared in the least if I had taken a bite off it.

Everybody needs a Jason in their life – someone who shows you how another part of the world lives, someone who reminds you how good you really have it.

Like I always say, Our worst day is somebody else’s best day.

Raise your glass, it’s time for a toast:

To the Jason’s of the world – the ones who show up in their overalls with a mower, a rake, and a twelve-pack bungee-corded on like it’s OSHA-approved. The ones who work hard, don’t sugarcoat their story and show up even when life hasn’t exactly rolled out the red carpet for them.

To the men and women who make “dining out” at the community kitchen sound like a 5-star event, who save up for gravestones before pickups, and who make our lives easier with their grit and hard work.

Sometimes the hero doesn’t fly in with a cape. He walks up wearing his overalls and says, “Whatever you think it’s worth.”

Cheers, Jason!