I arrived, and it took about 20 minutes by torchlight (me holding the torch and issuing instructions; she doing the physical stuff so she’d know how to do it next time) to change the wheel. She also knows to get the flat replaced and have a matching, second new tyre fitted to the front, with the two least worn of the remaining tyres fitted to the rear and the third-least worn tyre stowed in the boot as the spare for next time.
(Oh, and never skimp on tyres. Too often they’re the only thing between you and disaster and it’s worth many extra dollars to know they will do their job properly when needed. Go with a great brand and avoid cheap stuff, even – especially – on your kids’ cars. Here endeth the lesson; amen.)
Now it all makes sense to her – she’s not silly; she just hadn’t been shown before. This is a conversation I’ll have with her father at another time. As we departed she told me she didn’t know what she’d do if I wasn’t her godmother, and as I drove away I wondered what purpose faith-based religious instruction might have served in this particular situation.
But then I thought of the joke about the man who hears on the radio that there’s going to be a flood, but thinks to himself, “I’ll be OK; my faith will protect me.” The rain starts, and the floodwaters rise, and he soon finds himself sitting on his roof. A boat goes by and the driver asks him if he’d like a lift. “No thanks, I’ll be fine; my faith will protect me,” the man replies.
The water rises until it is close to the roofline, and a helicopter appears overhead. “Can we winch you out?” the operator calls. “No thanks, I’ll be fine; my faith will protect me,” the man replies.
When the water sweeps him off the roof and he drowns, he finds himself before St Peter. “What on earth are you doing here?” St Peter asks. “I don’t know,” the man says. “I thought my faith would protect me.”
“Well, I’m not sure what else you needed,” St Peter says. “We sent you a radio bulletin, a boat and a helicopter.”