|
On Friday I went to Portage with Dad and spent many pleasant hours with him, pursuing a variety of errands. Some of the many hours (or so it seemed) were in the Walmart in Portage, purchasing a battery for Dad’s RAV4 and a battery for Carol’s Taurus, both vehicles having become victims of electrical atrophy attributable, suspectedly, to their lengthy recent quarantines in their respective garages.
I drove from town to the farm, and then Dad drove us to Portage. He brought along a trade-in battery in case the wait was going to be too long for “free” installation, but, when the automotive guy said there was only one car ahead of us, Dad decided that would be fine, and I could trade in his old random battery against Carol’s purchase.
Saturday morning, in our customary phone conversation to check on one another’s well-being, with the phone on speakerphone and Carol sitting at our dining table with her start-the-day cup of coffee, I asked Dad what it is that someone recycles out of old batteries. What made it worthwhile, I wondered and shoulda known but couldn’t recall, for Walmart to charge a ten-dollar “core fee” if someone came in empty-handed and bought a new battery to lug home?
“Lead,” said Dad. “They recycle the lead.”
Ahh, yes, lead! I hadn’t hoisted a car battery in seems like years, and I had been a bit surprised at the effort required when I lifted the old one off his garage floor where Dad had it, and into the back of his car.
“That must be,” Carol suggested wryly, “where the expression ‘get the lead out’ comes from.”
Ha! That was worth a smile, almost a chuckle. “Yeah, probably so,” I said. “You are making me think of times when we kids used to ask Dad questions, and he would give us some smart-aleck answer, and when we would groan about it, he’d say, ‘Just keep asking questions, son. It’s the only way you will ever learn.’”
Dad, on the phone on Saturday morning, chuckled at my reminiscence. He did not sound repentant.
♦
|
