Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

Chapter 13: A Little Kindness goes a long Way.

Chapter 13

A little Kindness goes a long way.

My father was a great guy. He loved to play hockey, baseball, track any sport, he was an only child and looked to sport to teach him life lessons. He incorporated these sportsmanship ideals into every fabric of his being. Keep your head up was always popular, in reality it works if you think about it.

Years after my father passed at a very young age, we grieved for his leadership and direction. Then came acceptance and all of the levels and forms of classic loss. One day, in the spring of 1999, almost to the new cross over into the new era of 2000, I was backing my car into a parking space by the South Albert Drug Store. I sat for a minute listening to the last few bars of a golden oldie we used to sing back in high school. A man in his late forties came out of the front door, he was agitated and upset. In his arms he carried four or five disproportionate items, some were large and looked to carry some weight, judging from the awkwardness he presented. I saw the problem, he had no bag to carry his items. I always carry plastic bags, wipes, screwdrivers, zip ties, flashlight and a host of stuff, you never know when you might need them.

I grabbed a couple of bags and walked up to the gentleman. I immediately offered him the bags. I said this might make your groceries easier to handle. He looked frustrated. He said he had asked for some bags from the clerk, they said they did not give out bags anymore.

What? He continued, he explained to the employee he was on his bike and had he known they did not supply bags he would most certainly brought some from home. I did not think too much of the situation, I just offered my assistance.

He took the bags and started to calm down, he asked what my name was so he could say thanks in a more polite manner. I said my name is Jack Fulton.

He said no way, are you related to Jack Fulton, the Druggist?

Yes, he was my dad, he passed in 1975, he died of a burst spleen due to a fall at the lake. His eyes grew into a sorrowful squint, then he relayed this story to me.

He related that he was a newly married man with a new born baby in the winter of 1966, in the middle of the night the baby was in pain. The ear infection medicine that had been used to comfort and control an ear condition had run out. The past two or three hours nothing had worked to comfort or quiet the infant. The babies fever was growing and real fear had made the couple desperate for help.

They phoned our house at about three in the morning. Not only was it the dead of night, but it was one of coldest winter nights of the year. He explained the situation to my dad. He added the drug store was not where they usually shopped and their prescription at another pharmacy had elapsed, could he help them?

My dad hated winter, did not like the cold and was not fond of snow in general, odd that he loved hockey. As events unfolded on that cold, desperate night, dad got dressed. He slipped outside, started the '64 blue Ford wagon, scrapped the windows, cleared off the snow off of the hood and plowed through the early morning snow cratered streets of Regina. I remember wondering where he was going, it must be the middle of the night,but dismissed the thought and fell back to sleep.

He opened the store, filled the prescription, placed the medicine in a stock bag, drove to their house and presented the much needed ear drops. The couple said they had no money to pay. Oh, that is alright my dad said to him, I will start an account for you and charge it. You can pay me when you can.

By now the story teller was deep in thought and recollection. He said you know we never did pay for the prescription, we had no extra money and our baby recovered. We always intended to settle the account, but didn't. Now, he continued our baby had just graduated from college. My face turned to rubber, silently I stated to tear up when I thought about that night. My dad did not say anything at all about this situation, ever. He took it as part of his personal self.

He believed we do for others without thought of reciprocity. The task was the reward. He learned a great deal of how to live your life in a meaningful way from Grandpa Blair, Napoleon Hill, reverend Ross Manthorp, and his personal saviour.

As I stood there he thanked me once again for helping him with his problem. I said to him, no you have given me something far more precious and valuable. As you were recalling the story you brought my dad back to me, I thanked him, we parted ways.