The Fruit Stollen

I had seen him staring at me as I drove by his eyes wide and wearing a backward baseball cap.

Turning my head back to the road, he disappeared, somewhere down the street.

I had been driving down this long country road that seemed to go on and on for miles. Wiggins road, it was called. It passed by cow pastures and strawberry fields. I slowed down so I could find his house. He was an erstwhile client of ours, I heard and autistic.

Finally, I found a mailbox that matched his address so I pulled into a concrete driveway. The house was dilapidated and rundown and surrounded by pines, live oaks and palm trees. A broken-down hatch-back car vegetated in the driveway. I strolled up to the door as a cool breeze hit my face. No one answered my knock. I called his cell phone and there was no answer either. I stood there a few more minutes not puzzling as to what to do when suddenly I saw this tall man walking rapidly down the road towards me. He was wearing a corduroy jacket  and had a head of curly grayish blonde hair.

 “Are you John?” I asked.

“Yep.” He replied as I shivered in the early morning cold.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming. They never called me back.”

I sighed. “Yeah, sometimes that happens. Emma gets busy.”

Wait!” he yelled, “I gotta do sumpthin’!”

He ran beyond the house as I stood there waiting.

I got cold so I went and sat in my car. He finally returned only to mumble something about getting a signed check. He ran to the house next door. His sister came out a few minutes later and said it was hers. She got in her car to go to work. She had him give her other two blank checks he held in his hand and had also given him an envelope of cash.

Finally, he said good bye to her and jumped into my car. “

“Where you want to go?” I asked and before he could respond I added, “Walmart?”

“First, we gotta go to Sweet Bay. I gotta buy a fruit stollen. Its my dad’s favorite dessert.”

“Oh, okay. Do you live with your dad?” I asked as he showed me the way down the back roads through the strawberry fields.

“Yeah. I’ve lived here since 1979. My mom, dad and me moved down from New Jersey. My mom just passed away in October. Now, it’s just my dad and me. We turn here.”

I took a sharp turn and saw about twenty workers bending their backs to pick the crop. The road was paved but was only one lane. I hoped he knew where we were going and we didn’t get lost. Finally, it opened up on to Hwy 39 by the landscaping place and I knew where we were.

“So, was your mom old? I bet you miss her.”

“Yeah, I do. She was 92. She had dementia and my dad’s 89. He used to drive our old AMC station wagon. You know, the big ones that could hold nine passengers. That car had over 300,000 miles on it.

We turned into Sweet Bay and I parked and got out.

“So you never learned to drive, then.”

“No, I never did. My dad took me everywhere til he got too old. You know, we sold that car and someone’s still drivin’ it. Those old cars lasted forever.”

We walked into the store and he started looking around.

“What are you lookin’ for?” I had forgotten what he had said to me.

“The stollen. Remember?”

“I don’t think they have them. Maybe Publix does.”

He asked the lady in the bakery and she confirmed our suspicions.

So, we went to Wal-Mart and bought a bunch of stuff there including a box of lighters, six bottles of distilled water, two macaroni and cheese dinners and other grocery items.

“My sister usually takes me on Saturday, but, you know, she can’t this Saturday.”

“Yeah, it being Christmas Day.” I added.

Then, he ran from register to register looking for something.

Finally, I caught up with him. “What are you looking for?” I queried.

“My dad smokes a pipe.” He said. “He likes the different colored lighters.” He explained. “His favorite color is green.” He picked one up off a shelf. “This one will have to do.”

We finally got to an open register and got in the shortest line we could find.

“And Dad likes pears, too.” He put one pear on the belt.

“One pear? That’s all he eats?”

“Yeah, he uses the skin for his pipe. It keeps the tobacco moist.”

“Oh, okay.” Very strange, I thought.

But there were no fruit stollens at Wal-mart although he looked and looked.

Our next stop was Publix. “I bet they have them.” I repeated.

“Look!” I yelled with excitement when we walked in. “A fruit stollen!”

There they were right on a little table.

He bought two.

So we went back and he brought me into his house. It reeked as badly as he did of neglect. He wrote out the check and handed it to me when I told him the amount.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s still sleepin’. He sleeps until noon.”

That was my first visit with John. Now, I go there almost every Saturday to take him shopping. He likes the big band sound, so we listen to that station on the radio as we run from store to store. He is very compassionate and helps me with my shopping too.

I don’t think of him as handicapped any more. I think of the rest of us as handicapped. He is more normal than anyone I know.

So this year it’s Christmas Eve and we’re shopping again.

I doubt it will be for fruit stolen, though. His dad is not feeling very good. We are concerned he may die soon. I hope not. I don’t know if I will be able take John out any more. He will probably move in next door with his sister.

But it sure has been an adventure and God has been right there with me. I’ve learned about compassion and kindness from an unlikely person.

“Insomuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Matthew 25:40.

May your Christmas have as much richness and blessings as mine!

Merry Christmas!