The Contagion of Gratitude

I am pretty certain that more ink has been spilled in the name of spite and slander than ever has been devoted to gratitude and generosity. Looking toward the impending Thanksgiving holiday, please grant me a moment to challenge our baser experience in an homage to gratitude. Here are a two examples. 

Example one. An insurance company is currently running a television ad showing a woman re-center a stranger's cup of coffee poised at table's edge. A man who sees the the woman move the coffee cup helps a mother remove her child's stroller from a bus. A woman who sees the mother helped with the stroller pulls another man from a cascade of falling boxes. A driver who sees the man saved from falling boxes allows another man to pull safely into traffic. A witness to the assisted driver raps a warning on the backdoor of a truck whose driver is backing blindly into a parked motorcycle. And then it ends as it began--a circle of kindness and gratitude among strangers. Maybe you have seen it.

One might understand why a helped person would extend the courtesy of a thank you to the helper at the time of the courtesy.  That's just being polite. What is not explained by the spite and slander crowd, however, is why someone who only sees an individual assisted would extend himself to help a stranger somewhere down the road.

Example two. My mother has the energy of a tornado and the stamina of a draft horse. At 79-years young, she still works full time as a public school child nutrition professional. Mom has lived alone most of the 31 years since my father's death. She is now sheltering my brother recovering from a severe lung infection for which he was hospitalized for over three weeks. Everyone who knows my mother knows her to be loving and generous. It was not always so.

Raised by a taciturn father and a paranoid, emotionally-volatile mother, young Barbara ran away from home, married young, and started a family. Into her first-born son, she poured all the love she felt herself denied. Still and for many years, it was difficult for her to utter the words, "I love you, Son." The big chill was even more pronounced for my siblings born into more difficult years of the family.

Those of you who are grandparents may understand the next part of the story. When my son, Chris, was born, it was as if the floodgates of Barbara's heart were open, and all the I love yous that for a half a century she was afraid to utter flowed as freely as water over the dam of a swollen lake.

All this to say that Mom called me this morning to tell me she loved me and appreciated me. I was still on the phone with her when my son bounded down the steps toward the front door to leave for work.

"I love you, Chris," I said as he turned the doorknob. "I love you too, Dad." That exchange made me feel pretty grateful. I'm passing on this to you. Now it's your turn.