The Long and Winding Road

Last summer Ray and invalid wife Frances dined at a Lake Michigan resort. Afterwards, as they hobbled out to their car, a tanned golfer jumped from his barstool and offered to assist.

This spring a skinny, black, nose-ringed attendant at the Charleston gas station raced to the door, opened it and guided Frances’s wheelchair through.

Later, homeward bound, as Ray and Frances gassed up, two vaping, bearded Blue Ridge hillbillies bucked the unwieldy wheelchair into the trunk.

We all have limps, ailments, doors we can’t open. Why don’t we help, not hate, one another on the long and winding road?