Sometimes living in a smaller town can be frustrating. Our mall doesn’t exactly have the most variety and there isn’t a whole lot to do when you’re bored and you don’t have motorized toys or legal mud pits at your disposal.
Also, there is a good chance you’ll be recognized in Walmart and that identification will almost always happen when you least desire it to occur, such as, while you’re screaming at your children; on the morning you wore those old pajama pants with the hole in the knee; when you just left the gym and are drenched in sweat, but had to pick up milk on the way home; or the one day your hair dryer broke and the only color left in the eye-shadow pallet was electric blue.
Having said all of that, this past week has made me realize one of the most outstanding qualities about living in a small town: a sense of community.
This past Sunday, a horrible tragedy occurred in our county that resulted in the loss of a little boy’s life. I had met the young child, Matty, several years ago when his mother, Mandy, and I had briefly worked together. Since that time, we have kept up with each other’s lives on Facebook, but that really isn’t a substitute for being involved and present in someone’s daily life. Still, I was heartbroken for the whole family.
Several people were involved in setting up fundraisers to help the family and I was quick to volunteer my time at a couple of carwashes. Truth be told, I was probably going to spend those two days napping and not studying for my upcoming nursing exams; in other words, being completely and utterly unproductive.
Though I avoid washing my own car like I avoid jogging or moving furniture with my husband, I seriously got into scrubbing and rinsing complete stranger’s vehicles for a good cause. I even relished in taking on the most tedious job in the realm of car cleaning: bug detail.
One thing I learned about our county is that a good portion of our citizens own large vehicles. I was able to practice the art of stability by precariously balancing on a bucket so I could clean the tops of vans and large trucks. It was a tad bit scary, but I did it.
I also conducted quality checks on the placement of a parking block by kicking it several times. Some would say it looked more like I had inadvertently tripped over it, but I was just making sure that it was securely attached to the pavement. On a related note, I may have mentioned this in the past, but want to remind everyone that flip flops are dangerous footwear.
While washing the windshield of one monstrous truck, the gentleman was inside pointing to spots I was “missing.” It was all in good humor, but I did have to tell him that I couldn’t reach one area because it was on the inside. We both got a good chuckle out of that.
People gave from their hearts. Some people drove up and gave money without getting their car washed at all. Most people had heard about the tragedy and just wanted to help.
Avon Park, Sebring, and Lake Placid may not have all the fancy bells and whistles of larger cities, but one thing we do not lack is love.
To the Fisher family, my deepest sympathies and may your precious Matty forever smile down upon you from Heaven.
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