Everyone needs someone who cares

I was at the Bonners Books front counter last spring making my purchase. I discussed with the owner, Brett, “Do I want this one? His name seems familiar. Have I read it?” It was titled, “Hillbilly Elegy” by J.D. Vance. 

I decided I had not read it — but I liked the cover photo and the title. It was in good used condition for $7. I bought it. A month or two later just about everybody knew who J.D. Vance was. And I was pretty sure his memoir could not be had for $7. 

I didn't read it right away. In fact, I only started the book well into this recent presidential campaign — and finished it last night. By the time I was done, Vance had become the vice president-elect of the United States. I'm glad reading his story coincided with the campaign. It made it that much more relevant and remarkable. 

Whichever party you are — and Vance voted third party in the 2016 election — his memoir is a magnetic read. How did he survive that childhood? As he says, he had a few good people who stuck by him. Two of the most important were those rogue Kentucky hillbillies relocated to Ohio — his Mawmaw and Pawpaw. His mother's parents did all they could for him — even as she fought and lost, fought and won, fought and lost, fought and won her erratic battles with narcotics and alcohol abuse. 

Here is one “Mawmaw to the rescue” story. Vance was about 12. His mom had said something nasty to him, and he ran down the street to his mawmaw's house. His mom's convincing apology enticed him to ride with her to buy football cards at the mall. On the way a remark he made set her off. She accelerated wildly and threatened she was going to crash the car and kill them both. He leaped into the back seat.  

She pulled the car over to beat him. He opened the door and ran — coming to a house with a woman in her yard. “You have to call my mawmaw!” I screamed. “Please help me. My mom is trying to kill me.” She let him in and he made the call, telling his mawmaw to hurry — before his mom found him. 

His mother did find him, banging on the door. The homeowner locked the doors. Vance's mother proceeded to break down the door and drag him out — while he yelled and clutched at anything he could. As she pulled him to her car, two police cruisers showed up. The officers handcuffed his mom and one drove off with her. 

Vance waited in the other cruiser for his mawmaw. Safely back in their home his pawpaw laid his hand on his grandson's head and began to sob. Vance had never seen him cry. Pawpaw wiped his eyes, and neither ever spoke of that moment.  

After this incident Vance went to live with his grandparents — though his mom retained custody, and he could stay with her or not as he chose. Vance writes that his mawmaw said if his mother “had a problem with the arrangement, she could talk to the barrel of a Mawmaw's gun. This was hillbilly justice, and it didn't fail me.” 

What if there had been no one to help this adolescent kid? I don't think he'd be anywhere near the Oval Office — at least not for a good reason. Everyone needs a person. Not a smart person, or a rich one — but one who cares. There is no greater space to inhabit than to provide security and encouragement in the life of another. 

November, our “thankful month,” is the perfect time to acknowledge the caring people in our lives — and to be that person for someone else.