Labor of Love

Gerry Niskern
I met this immigrant family several years ago. The man came up to talk with Ken about some hauling from our do-it-yourself home renovation he needed done. The young Hispanic husband brought his wife with him. We visited while the men talked. She understood me, but was hesitant and shy trying to answer me in English. We did just fine by sharing photos of our children and a little sign language.
A few weeks later when my husband was knocked many feet down to the driveway floor by a collapsing load of dry wall one evening, my son called from the hospital and asked out new friend to come early in the morning and haul away the dry wall reminder of the fatal accident. He came before dawn removed every trace and later would not accept any payment.
One day after doing some landscaping for me, I asked if he would have time to take my trash cans down my steep driveway every week, he said he didn’t, but maybe his middle school daughter would like the job. The Honor Academy student did the job for me and continued to do so throughout her four years at GCU that she was attending on a full scholastic scholarship .
When I moved to another house, I hired him to spray for scorpions before I moved in. He saw my garage full of moving boxes and he and his wife stood in my hot garage and broke them down one afternoon; again refusing payment. One holiday season I asked the woman if she had time in her cleaning schedule to just clean my bathroom. She did and would not give me a charge, just kept saying, “Merry Christmas”.
When I first met the young immigrant family I remember trying to give their other daughter, who was a five years old some money when I was paying her daddy for landscaping. She refused to take it. She said, “They don’t want me to take it.” This immigrant couple were hard to define but easily explained in terms of generosity. They both worked hard for their money and wanted their two daughters to learn their values. They invited me to their little daughter’s birthday party. I remember sending the toddler a birthday card and learned how thrilled she was to actually receive something ,for the first time, from the mailman. When that little girl was in middle school at the Honor Academy also, she helped me learn to use my IPad! I asked her to pick my orange tree and after she had a mound of bags full of oranges, I looked out to see her dad up on a tall ladder finishing up the top. I was only allowed to pay the daughter.
I don’t know when they came to the U.S.A. and I don’t care. I always thought of my own immigrant grandparents who came here to work for a better life for their family. This Hispanic family labored hard for their money, but insisted on no compensation for doing small things I asked; for those they gave me friendship!