Story and picture by AAH Bonny Flesher With this summer heat and seeing lots of lawnmowers in use, I think of a family friend. I wrote a story several years ago about him and wanted to share it again. Growing up in a small town like Hennessey, everyone knows everyone, I thought. Being around the age 6, I knew everyone in our small town until one hot summer day after some splash time at the town pool, my mom picked us up. As we turned and started down Oklahoma street my mom started a conversation that is still with me to this day. She asked if we would like to see a real Angel on earth? This caught my attention and I turned to see who she was referring to. I thought mom had surely lost her marbles. All the angels I had seen were in books. They had wings, long gowns and glowing halos, but not this one. All I saw was a small built man needing a shower and shave pushing a mower. His name was Clayton. He sure didn’t look like an angel and mowing 3 in the afternoon on a hot July day, he didn’t smell angelic. After my mother pointed this very simple human and referred to him as an Angel I started paying attention. He wore the same clothes every Sunday to church always sitting in the same spot alone. Clayton didn’t hold any positions in the church or asked to. As a matter of fact, some people would make fun of Clayton when he talked because of his stutter. I noticed though, when he visited with my parents he didn’t stutter. I asked why, my mother’s answer was treat him with respect, there’s a lesson to be learned. Clayton often mowed after dark seeing from the lights glowing down on the street. He would take his earnings to the church secretary to put away for the kids who couldn’t afford church camp. He also paid for coffee so everyone could have a cup before Sunday school. Fast forward several years, the last time I saw Clayton my parents were having a fish fry. People were spread out thru the yard and garage. Clayton came pushing his lawnmower down their street. My mother fixed him a plate and took it to him, shyly and quietly he ate his first helping and was working on a second when mom had me bag up a to go bag. Clayton mumbled a thank you and went on his way. Little did I realize that moment was my gift more than Clayton’s A few weeks later Clayton did gain those Angel wings. At his funeral, the minister asked if there was anything people would like to say about this quiet man. The stories began as a testimony of Clayton’s time walking this earth. His life had a purpose! A hundred years from now, it will not matter what my bank account was. The sort of house I lived in or the kind of car I drove, but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child! Thanks, Clayton!
