My friend BJ

It was hot this weekend. I probably don’t need to tell you that if you spent any portion of the weekend in an outdoor area in NC. But it was especially hot on Interstate 40 at 6 pm on Sunday on our way back home when our front passenger tire blew out with amazing swiftness.

About 15 minutes later, when a seemingly helpful policeman put all of his 250-plus pounds on the wrench and busted a lugnut right in half, it was decidedly hotter. We were baking on the side of the road, tired and frustrated, with the prospect of an hour long ride in a tow truck ahead of us.

That’s when BJ showed up. BJ works for Adams Towing (which has the AAA contract) and he was our hope to get home.

At first glance, BJ and I don’t seem to have much in common. There’s the obvious difference of ethnicity, since BJ is black and I’m white.  He drives a tow truck for a living - I look at spreadsheets. BJ is 38…and a grandfather. By every societal norm, BJ and I would be considered opposites. But as we made the trek back to Durham, I soon realized there’s no way to quantify just how alike we actually are.

BJ works hard everyday to support his daughters and family. And he does it with a smile on his face (just listen to the banter between him and his dispatcher for evidence).  BJ was a high school linebacker, and still looks like he could deliver some punishment if necessary.  But in spite of his impressive physique, BJ is a softie at heart.  During our hour ride we talked about how he tries to keep his 9 year old daughter on the straight and narrow, even if he wasn’t always there to give the best advice to his elder daughter who is 18.  The conversation was free-flowing and fun, mostly because we were laughing the whole time.  We laughed with BJ as he told us with his unique Southern drawl how he quite literally fried an egg on the patio this morning.  And BJ laughed at us (or more specifically Tracy) for the many unusual and funny phrases we use (“Oh my Word”, “PTL”, and “You little stinker” come to mind.)

Before we knew it, the signs for Durham appeared, and we dropped our car off at the tire shop, before BJ took us the short distance home.  While pulling into our neighborhood, it became clear to me that in spite of our differences, the common thread of familial love, the pain of disappointment, and the hope of grace and redemption serve as the tie that binds us all, as humans, together.  As I began to lose myself in the weight of the thought, mesmerized by the fact that a short ride with a stranger could make such an impression, BJ stopped to let us out.

“I’m sure going to miss you guys,” said BJ as we hopped out of his truck.

Us too, BJ.  More than you’ll ever know.