Today I sent Ralph on an errand. That’s right, I sent him off to perform a task without me there to oversee him. I gave him a twenty dollar bill and asked him to go to the gas station down the road, buy “something,” ie cigarettes, and bring me a five and 3 singles back with the change.

Asking Ralph to perform tasks is not something I do a lot obviously. He used to handle all the manual chores that required any skill. He did electrical, plumbing, carpentry, auto repair, you name it. He wouldn’t let me hang a picture because he didn’t think I could meet his critical standards. What he never did was run errands. He was not one to go out of his way on the way home from work to pick up milk, or a kid from school for that matter.

Now he is more than willing to do whatever I ask. Willing just not capable.

So my request was an experiment of sort. He still drives to the gas station daily for his cigarettes so getting there and back was not an issue. And willingness clearly was no problem; he offered to leave that minute. But remembering to bring me what I ask for…there we’ve had problems in the past. Even if I call him while he’s at the store or he calls me from the store to double check, he’s still likely to come home empty-handed. In the past he’s resisted taking written reminders but lately he’s become more dependent on his daily written life list.

So I wrote down a note, bring me change for this twenty.

He read the note. I reminded him I needed to end up with 8 dollars and he could keep the rest for his own use (I usually make sure he has about twenty dollars in his wallet at all times.) He looked with worry at the note again.

I took it back and wrote a new note. Bring me three 1$ bills and, one 5$ bill.

He read the note and nodded. I turned back to the stove as he put on his coat and started to the door. He stopped.

I can’t remember where I put the note or the twenty dollar bill.

He patted his jacket pockets. I checked his wallet. No note. I was about to write a new own when I saw a corner of the note poking up from the breast pocket of his shirt. I put note and cash in his wallet. He couldn’t buy his cigarettes without  seeing the note—well, unless he used his credit card, his usual payment method.

I sent him off with misgivings but fifteen minutes he was back. With 3 singles and a 5.He was casual as he handed over the bills, but I could sense he was feeling the same buzz of thrill and relief I was at a job well done.

Success is measured differently these days.