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.

Sour Grapes in Your Stocking

Sour Grapes in Your Stocking

One November, our school had a wonderful book sale. To add interest, the booksellers offered a free-raffle ticket for every student. The prize was a giant Christmas stocking filled with games, books, puzzles, and things all kids covet. All week they waited, giggling and wondering just who would win.

With bated breath my second grade class listened as the librarian finally announced the winner: “So and So in Room 12 wins the Christmas Stocking full of gifts!” As the reality of losing washed over my crowd, a light bulb went on:

 “Room 12! That’s Kindergarten!”  

“A kindergarten kid won that stocking?”

 “He won’t even know what to do with all that stuff! He’s too little.” 

Indignation surged.

“Well,” I said, “It is Christmas. Maybe he will want to give some of those things for gifts.” They thought this over. 

One of my eager beavers raised her hand. “If I had won, I would have given the baby books to my sister.” 

“ I would give ten things away,” piped up another.

“I would give half away!” called another

“I would only keep ten things!” said a particularly generous soul.

I could see the little wheels turning. A moment ago, they had wanted it all. When they heard that they had not won, sour grapes leaped into their mouths. How could a baby kindergartener appreciate this windfall?

They thought again. Maybe showing how generous they could be would be taking the higher road. Now they strove to out-give each other with evaporated gifts.

Second grade is often a microcosm of the world.  If you want to study humankind, you don’t need to travel the world seeking out philosophers, wise men, or scholars, just visit an elementary school classroom. All the thoughts, emotions, and urges of the world can be observed right there.

Growing up in a consumer world, kids want things. They want a lot of things, more things than they can possibly use. They get mad when others get what they considered rightly theirs. They grouse. They rationalize. They envy.

With a little redirection, they change. Maybe giving can be more satisfying than getting. Maybe giving is more honorable too since my teacher or my parents value it.

We are all the same. We want. Infants cry for milk. Toddlers scream for toys. Teens agitate for the latest fashions. Adults lust after the trendiest phones. Egged on by advertisers, we believe that we deserve these things just because we want them. 

That is why we need to be reminded. Giving really is more blessed than receiving. My students got a lot of pleasure giving away those imaginary gifts. Moms, dads, siblings, cousins, and friends benefited from their generous thoughts. Not because there were real gifts, but because they had come to a new way of thinking.

Perhaps in the future, they would think of another’s pleasure before fulfilling their own. Perhaps they will be an example of generosity to others passing this gift along.

As the sour grapes melted away, the ambrosia of giving filled their hearts.  I hope they never forget that raffle stocking. 

Losing it was a better prize than winning it.

Giving People

Giving People

About twenty years ago, I gathered my adult children together and told them I had an important announcement to make. My son Rob grew pale.

“I have decided to take myself out of the loop.” I said. “Please don’t give me any more presents for Christmas.”

Rob colored again and said, “Whew, I thought I was about to get a new baby brother or sister.”

My decision was based on the old maxim that you can’t really change anyone except yourself.  I had grown tired of the hustle and bustle of the holidays. All I wanted to do, I decided, was visit with family, sing carols and eat a few cookies. I wanted to remember the real reason for the season more and worry less about the trappings and wrappings. So I took myself out of the loop. No more presents for me. But that didn’t mean I would stop giving.

After removing myself from the gift exchange, I had to decide what to do about giving. I looked around at all the things I had received over the years. Some were precious hand-made treasures made by my children.  Most were things I could definitely live without. We have so much and really need so little. So I decided to give to those who have so little and need so much. Instead of giving gifts, I would give people. 

The first year, I gave my husband a family in Africa. In his earlier days, he had spent many years raising goats but he wouldn’t have to get up early to milk this one or worry about her kicking over the bucket. This goat would belong to a family in Kenya who would use her to start a small business and also feed their children. I gave my daughter a sweet little girl in Honduras who would be housed and schooled in a wonderful orphanage run by loving people. I gave my sons a library full of books which would be used by students in Namibia to open horizons to worlds unknown.

My children jumped right in. My daughter gave me textbooks for the children of those considered “untouchable” in India. My sons gave me a classroom in Thailand which would serve victims of the child trafficking trade. My parents gave me the future of a young woman in Ethiopia who would receive a life saving operation. My husband gave me a family in war torn Darfur which would receive emergency care. 

Over the years our family has given young girls in Namibia a chance for schooling, helped educate a nurse who will serve HIV-AIDS patients in rural clinic in Zambia and provided a tin roof for a kindergarten class meeting under a tall tree in the grasslands of Africa. We have supported workers in China, Bolivia, the Dominican Republic and Cameroon.

 

My students and friends joined in too. They gave me socks to warm the frosty toes of homeless children right here in Pennsylvania. They gave me books for kids in Appalachia. They gave me teachers who brought new light into the eyes of students all over the world. They gave me help for the helpless and hope for the hopeless. 

Open your eyes… give of yourself, give as much as you can!  And you can always, always give something, even if it is only kindness!... Give and you shall receive, much more than you ever thought possible. Give, give again and again, don’t lose courage, keep it up and go on giving!  No one has ever become poor from giving!  … There is plenty for everyone in the world, enough money, riches, and beauty for all to share!  God had made enough for everyone!  Let us all begin by sharing it fairly. 

The young girl who wrote this wanted to give, give all she had to others, even though she had been living in hiding for two years with seven other people during World War II. And through her diary, Anne Frank gave an incalculable gift to the world, the gift of hope.

So now we enjoy the warmth of giving but don’t have to wrap a thing. Instead of presents, we give people. We sing the carols, eat the cookies and visit the family. And every year, our family around the world gets bigger and bigger. Rob was almost right; no baby brother, but a larger family all the same.