Groundhog's Life

Groundhog’s Life

One of my all-time favorite movies is “Groundhog’s Day” starring Bill Murray. Murray plays a weather man who is sent to cover the famous Punxsutawney Phil --the groundhog who predicts the coming of spring.  

 Too sophisticated to take part of these yearly festivities, Bill sneers at the celebrating locals, his clumsy cameraman, and his cheerful producer. He wants to get the job done and get out of there. He does not get his wish.

You probably know the story. The incorrigible weatherman played by Murray gets stuck in a loop – living the same day over and over. At first, he is disdainful, then suicidal. He tries several times to end it all, including an ill-fated ride with the famous groundhog driving. 

Nothing works. He can’t get out. He is stuck.

Then something happens, Bill realizes that he has been given a gift. He can relive his day and make it better. First, he tries to change things. He tries to save the life of a homeless man. He fails. He tries to get his lovely producer to fall in love with him by impressing her with his sophistication. He fails. He then does something totally out of character. 

He decides to be kind.

He begins to listen to those around him. He does what he can to make their lives easier. Since he knows what will occur, he tries to be in the right place at the right time to make a difference. He works to make himself a better person. He takes piano lessons. He creates ice sculptures. He is kind to old ladies and foolish youth. Every day he repeats becomes better; his curse becomes a blessing.

None of us can live even one minute of our lives over again. We have to take the days as they come. But we do have the choice on how we will greet each day. We can be disdainful or even suicidal-- but how much better it would be to be kind. 

 We can decide to help others. We can listen. We can try to be at the right place at the right time to help others. And, even if we are in the wrong place or get there at the wrong time, we can greet each day with love and pass that love along to everyone we meet.

My piano-lesson-taking daughter always groaned when I commented that, although Bill could spend his limitless time anyway he wanted, he chose to take piano lessons. His infatuation with his lady producer prompted him to start, but the joy of music soon over-whelmed him. Bill shared his joy with others. 

That’s the way it is with most joyful things – our joy grows to include those around us.

So instead of living just one recurring Groundhog’s Day, strive to have a “Groundhog’s” life.  Be kind every day. Listen. Share your joys. 

Expect an early spring and find blossoms in the snow.

Love on A Silver Platter

Love on a Silver Platter

          It’s not often you get love served to you on a silver platter.

When I was fifteen years old, my father graduated from college. He had started his college career in the regular way at the regular age, but his education had been interrupted when he was crossing a street one evening. A drunk driver careened around a corner knocking him down and dragging his sweetheart three blocks.

My father had a phobia about hospitals but faithfully visited his girlfriend always looking a little green around the gills. Because of this close call, he decided to quit school and get a job so that he could marry the love of his life. 

Twelve years and six kids later, he decided it was time to go back and finish what he’d started. In those twelve years, he had moved his family across the country several times and lost a leg to cancer. It took him six long years to finish the two he’d missed. During that time, he attended classes two nights a week, managed Little League teams, became a public speaker, volunteered for the American Cancer Society, attended innumerable school concerts and parent nights, flew kites, took his children fishing and clamming, and built a state-of-the-art stereo system. 

Now the big day had finally come. My grandmother was beside herself; her baby boy was finally getting his degree. She was throwing a big party at her brother’s restaurant on the docks in Manhattan. We were all pretty excited too. It’s not often a family of eight got to eat in a real restaurant in those days. 

As we drove from Pennsylvania to New York in our old aquamarine station wagon, my father and I envisioned the coming feast. My father was hoping for his favorite, flounder, while I was pulling for chicken. But we both agreed on one very special treat we were hoping for – shrimp cocktail.  I loved shrimp cocktail and almost never got it. My father, who’d had it more often than I, loved it too and we were both sure that a big fancy meal like this would definitely have shrimp cocktail.

We were drooling over our imagined feast when steam began pouring from the engine. The old blue station wagon coughed and stopped dead on the turnpike in the middle of New Jersey. We all considered New Jersey a God-forsaken wilderness consisting of nothing but turnpike and rest stops and here we were stuck there on a hot June day -- one hour short of the biggest party of our lives. 

We piled out while my father lifted the hood. While my mother dealt with fretting children and my father tried to figure out what was wrong, I wailed and moaned about the certain loss of the phantom shrimp cocktail. We were starting to sweat when I heard a car slowing down. I looked over the hood and saw a long black Cadillac driving on the shoulder of the road. 

“Dad,” I said, “Uh, Dad, someone’s coming.”  Both doors opened simultaneously and two men started to get out. They got out and got out and got out. These were big guys dressed in black and striding with a very business-like air toward our stranded vehicle.

“Dad!” I said. “Someone’s coming!” My father pulled his head from under the hood and said, “Frank, what are you doing here?” One of my father’s co-workers had recognized the old blue car and stopped to help.

Half an hour later, we were on our way. We were now about an hour late and when we arrived, a river of relatives rolled out of the restaurant with my grandmother in the lead. 

“What happened?” They demanded. They had jumped to the logical conclusion that we had all perished in a fiery crash. Half the women were sobbing and the other half were swatting at my father for worrying his mother.  I was worried that they had started without me and that I had missed the shrimp cocktail.

We rode the wave of family back inside and settled into our seats, my parents at the head table and the rest of us at the kid’s table. We sat down and immediately bowed our heads for grace. I prayed for shrimp cocktail.

We lifted our heads and I looked at my plate. There it was – a fruit cocktail. 

Someone had decided that the adults would have shrimp cocktail and the children would have fruit cocktail.  I was devastated; but before I could even moan, I felt a tap on my shoulder. 

I looked up and saw a black-coated waiter with a white linen napkin draped over his arm. He held a silver tray. The waiter said, “Your father sent you his cocktail.” He placed the tray in front of me and walked away. 

That’s when I saw it – love on a silver platter. 

It’s not often that you get love served to you on a silver platter. Many years later, I still taste that love.  

In loving memory of Michael Joseph Scotto June 25, 1931 - Jan. 13, 2014

A Perennial Resolution

New Year’s Resolutions

My second grade students loved to make New Year’s resolutions. We’d start every New Year by having a class meeting to share our favorite holiday moments -- then we got down to business. How did we plan to make this year better than the last?

My students always had great ideas. Several planned to work harder in school. These resolutions warmed my teacher-heart. Others planned to learn a new skill or hone an old one. We had budding musicians and ready-to-be-professional athletes. Some planned to keep their rooms neater or help their families more. I enjoyed hearing all of their resolutions. Then they asked me for mine.

          “I plan to be kind.” My students were puzzled. “But you are kind,” they would argue. My teacher-heart glowed.

Students are great at giving their teachers the “benefit of the doubt.” They are so full of love that they project love onto everyone they meet. This goes double for teachers and parents. Their “kindness gauge” moves easily upward. All I had to do is call on them when they raised their hands, let them help with some little chore, read them a great story, or praise their classwork. I loved them and that was enough.

My kindness gauge had a harder time moving north. I knew the little thorns in my nature that kept me from being as kind as I should be. I wanted to be Mr. Rogers, but I was only me. My resolution failed over and over as my temper flared or my patience flagged. I grumbled at the “flaws” of others and groused about my responsibilities. Unlike Fred, I did not see everyone as “special.” I did not like everyone “just the way [they] are.”

So no matter how hard I tried to keep this resolution, it went the way of all other New Year’s resolutions in many respects. I “went to the gym” to work on my kindness muscles but often skipped a work out. I “dieted” from unkind thoughts and actions then pigged-out on sarcasm when my will-power failed. But this resolution always succeeded in an important way. While I failed, my students did not. Having heard my resolution, my students became kinder. They became nicer to me and to each other. They pushed the kindness gauge through the roof. Oh, they were still kids, but now they noticed when someone was kind.  

“That was so nice when you picked up Tommy’s crayons for him.”

 “Thanks for letting me get ahead of you in the lunch line.”

“Thanks for including my friend in the game.”

“You can share my book. It’s more fun to read with a friend.”

Again this year, I will make my resolution. I will try to be kind. Although I don’t have a class full of little supporters anymore, I will remember the kindness my students showed me and try to pass it along. I hope my kindness gauge will rise, but more earnestly, I hope my efforts make yours rise too.