happy Holidays. Be kind.

Photo by Chad Madden on Unsplash

It’s the holiday season and as I sit here drinking my morning coffee, I am trying to recall a memory that has faded through the years.

It was Christmas time and I was, I think 16 years-old, and had just recently gotten my license to drive. My mother had asked me and my 11 year-old sister to run to the local drugstore to fetch some camera film, I think, for an event we were having that evening with extended family, maybe.

By now, you must be getting the picture that this memory is a little foggy for me. I may or may not have been 16, and It may or may not have been camera film I was sent to fetch, though that may be inconsequential.  As is the fact that it was for an event with extended family.

What is not inconsequential and what I do remember having happened is burned in my memory, never to be forgotten, even if the minor details are.

The gentleman in line before me at the drugstore, who happened to be in a wheelchair and who could barely see above the countertop because it wasn’t handicapped accessible, didn’t have enough money to buy what he’d come for. Without doubt or hesitation, I gave the cashier the money from my pocket that he was short. And I’ll not forget the feeling inside when I did so. It was a very strong ambivalence.  I remember feeling a well of pity for this man that seemed to have all odds against him. At the same time though, I remember feeling as though pity was the last thing I should be feeling. How would this man feel had he known that I gave the money because I felt sorry for him being disabled? How would he feel if he thought I was worried he was having trouble measuring up to society’s norms as he was not measuring up to that countertop (it would have been a false assumption I like to think). I also felt, at the same time, like I was doing something kind for my fellow man.

This sense of ambivalence has stuck with me through the years. I was the one who played with the neighbor, J. J. , who had cerebral palsy so severe she could barely negotiate her crutches. I was the one who would grow up to study and work with neurodiverse students in the schools. I was the one who was supposed to understand that such kids didn’t ask for pity. They asked for a CHANCE.

This act of sharing my money with that gentleman, while it gives me pause to this day, could simply be seen as a random act of kindness.  It wasn’t meant to make me look superior to him and it certainly wasn’t meant to shame him. I have, I think, worked through the ambivalence I feel when I see neurodiverse people. And that is really because this single act in the drugstore, foggy as the details are, was better for my well-being than it probably was for his.  He has probably long forgotten that it even happened. But it was such a great lesson for me in humility and kindness that it makes my heart fill with empathy all these years later.

I hope that you are able to spread your own random acts of kindness this holiday season. Remember, they are often more powerful for the giver than the recipient, though really, BOTH of your lives may change forever. Merry, merry holidays to you and yours.