A Little Bit Like Home

Just One More Spin

Some families try something once and decide that’s probably enough. Growing up, we may have been one of those families. At least at first…

When my brother Joe was in high school, we hosted a foreign exchange student named Roberto from Ecuador. If you asked any member of our family, they’d probably agree Roberto wasn’t the most ideal exchange student. In fact, when he went home, I’ve often wondered if Mom and Dad quietly said, That was insightful, but let’s not do that again.

We didn’t pursue hosting another student from another country. It seemed like one of those things you try once and move on from. A few years later, the phone rang.

International Fellowship, which arranged exchange students, called to say a host family had backed out and wondered, on very short notice, if we might step in. The catch was timing. The student would arrive in the United States in less than a week. Mom and Dad said yes. His name was Jose, and he was coming from Brazil.

By the day Jose arrived, winter conditions were bad enough to cancel school, and Christmas break began early. We made the slick, hundred-mile drive to Kansas City International Airport and brought him back to Northwest Missouri straight into winter with an attitude.

Being from Brazil, Jose had never seen snow. Especially the kind that lingers and reshapes everything. His body was used to warmer temperatures. After all, it was summer in South America. But he came prepared with heavy clothing and, before long, embraced winter like it had always been part of his life.

Once a week, we’d go into Maryville to buy groceries for the week. Our car was a little red Ford Pinto with a hatchback. Mom and Dad sat up front, while Joe, Jose, and I squeezed into the back.

Between the two front seats was a hand-pull emergency brake. One night, Jose asked what it was for. Dad explained it.

When we got home, he demonstrated. Just past the machine shed, in an open area between the grain bins and the garden, Dad pulled the brake and gave the Pinto a little gas. On the slick snow, the little red car spun in a perfect circle, something that would have made James Rockford smile. Jose loved it.

Over time, Jose developed his own way of addressing Dad. Sometimes it was Richard. Sometimes it was Pops. But most often, it was “big man.”

The next time we came up the lane and hit that spot, Jose leaned forward and shouted, “Now, big man! Now!”

On cue, Dad pulled the brake, hit the gas, and cut a few kitties. Somewhere in the background, I can still hear my mom exclaim, “Oh, Richard,” as we all leaned into the spin, laughing and fighting the centrifugal force as the car spun.

Fast forward several years.

It was winter again. Snow covered the ground, and I was riding home from church with Dad in the pickup. As we drove down the hill toward the Ford garage, I thought back to Jose and that little red Pinto. I couldn’t resist.

“Now, big man! Now!”

Without hesitation, Dad took the cue and spun the pickup around in front of the garage, cutting several kitties before straightening out and heading up the hill toward home.

Just as he finished the last spin, we recognized the car coming down the hill toward us. It was a Missouri Highway Patrolman.

Dad stopped and rolled down the window. The patrolman pulled up alongside and rolled his window down. As straight-faced as he could manage, Dad said, “Kind of slick back there, huh?”

The patrolman looked at him and said, “Yeah. Kind of slick. Better watch your speed next time.”

And with that, we were on our way home.

Jose went back to Brazil, and that little red Pinto is long gone. Snow has fallen and melted many times since then. But some moments don’t leave when the season changes.

Growing up, we may have thought we were the kind of family that tried something once and decided that was probably enough, at least at first. Saying yes a second time gave us something we never could have planned.

Some lessons arrive with instructions. Others only ask for a second spin.

Tom Brand writes the weekly A Little Bit Like Home column. Some stories stop when they end. Others keep spinning. Find more at ALittleBitLikeHome.com.