Recently a young man approached me with a question.

"I heard about your mentoring program. My wife and I would like to try it."

While I stayed planted in my chair, I wanted to fall over. This was a first. I usually do the asking, make that coaxing bordering on bribing with lunch, and here was a sparkling fresh husband asking to be part of a good thing. It's almost like those cars that speak to you. 

"I am running low on gas. Can you help me out before we both get stranded?"

Having just last week found myself coasting to the side of the road for just that reason I would welcome a talking car. 

John was cheerful about fetching a can of gas and rescuing me, and as I was in no hurry it was not a huge inconvenience. But there have been times it was.

There was the trip home from the airport on Christmas morning. Our son had taken a red eye and John had agreed to pick him up at dawn. I assumed that meant fill the tank too. We had four cars at the time, but all of them were in an inhospitable state. Our daughter was regularly saving bread from Trader Joe's that was past its expiration date to take to Philabundance, and because of the holidays had gotten behind on delivery. The van was completely packed with old, verging on moldy, loaves of cinnamon raisin, multigrain, whole wheat and croissants. There was no room for passengers, even ones without a sense of smell. 

Chara's compact car was too small for the large, gift filled suitcases Lukas had brought with him. 

Yet a third was in a semi retired state, and would not make it to the airport, and Micah's was on empty. John chose the last, sure he could find a place to fill up on the way. On Christmas. Right. 

He found no open stations and hoped we would make it on fumes. But on the way back with our precious son and his luggage, came the familiar slow and coast sensation. 

"Are you kidding Dad?" He was not amused, having been up all night on an overcrowded transcontinental flight. Using his IPhone Lukas found a station, but it was too far to walk on a cold December morning. We called Chara, who had a reputation for speed and she arrived quickly on the mostly vacant roads. But getting the gas from the can to the tank proved tricky. It kept drizzling out onto the pavement. 

We launched into a scene from Apollo 13 and rummaged through Micah's trashy car for components for a funnel. A soda can, a pocket knife, an envelope and we were soon on our, albeit less than festive, way home. 

Then there was the time John ran out of gas in spitting distance of a station but had no wallet. They took the spare as collateral. 

Mentoring is meant to be a way to stay refueled before you coast to a stop. But it can also be someone to call who will show up with a red can when you need it.