After Hurricane Fran destroyed the NC coast, many men from the church i attended at the time stepped up to serve. I remember many trips were made to the coast. One trip in particular sticks out. We were working in a cul de sac. Ripping out carpet, taking out ruined appliances ripping out sheetrock. Almost entirely gutting many homes. What made this one different were the homeowners were there working bedside us. What we wood and nails to me, was life and memories to these people. Most seemed to be in decent spirits given the conditions but I'm sure the 13 year old me didn't notice all the struggles of the people trying to fight back all the tears. I remember people being glad they didn't have to fight this battle alone.
The days started early. By 8 am we were there starting to work and the work was intense. Tiring to the muscles but also to the senses. The smell was rancid. Lunch time came and a much needed break was taken. The group we were working with came around and fed us lunch. A styrofoam to-go box i remember. I'm sure filled with a sandwich and a bag of chips. My dad let down his tailgate and I hoped up and began to eat. We grabbed a water and from the seemingly endless supply and he told the man he wasn't hungry. We took our break and continued to work. After the long day of work we headed home, stopping at a buffet to restock on energy. I remember my dad eating and me talking about how hungry i would have been if I had skipped lunch.
I later realized he was hungry. He simply passed his plate on to one of the people from the neighborhood. He got up at 3 am drove for hours on his gas and with his tools to serve people he didn't know and then gave up his food when he was hungry. And he didn't assume that lesson on me. He didn't make me give up my lunch. He just did it and let me watch. He didn't say a word and to this day still hasn't. It's an act ive seen him make time and time again.
