Most nights at dinner, I ask the kids what the best part of
their day was. Last night they were starving and I’d already made soup and
bread for dinner, so I let them eat early and I decided to wait for The
Athlete to get home from work.
We went around the table and the “bests” were typical – playing in the snow at recess, band practice, computer class etc. After dinner my oldest watched the toddler, my daughter cleaned up the toys and my middle son and I went out to finish shoveling.
While we were shoveling miserable, cement like snow from our city sidewalk, The Athlete arrived from the bus. He grabbed the last shovel and merrily worked away along side of us. I wasn’t terribly chatty because the snow was heavier and harder work than I anticipated.
Once we finished, we came inside and I put in White Christmas for everyone to watch. The Athlete and I got our soup and ate in front of the TV with the kids.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what the best part of my day was?” he asks.“Um, OK. What was the best part of your day?”
“Tonight on the bus a woman and her two year old got on a few stops after me and the toddler threw a full, end of the day, I’m starving, tantrum about scanning the bus pass.”
He put his soup down. I can see this is important.
“The mom is doing everything right, trying to calm him down, explaining what was allowed and not allowed on the bus for kids or for adults. She’s holding her ground. After a few minutes the bus is getting quiet and everyone is feeling tense because the toddler is still screaming. I’m feeling so bad for this woman because she’s trapped.”“At the next stop, the seat across from the woman and child opens up and the whole bus is quietly listening to the tantrum. It's so awkward.
He looks at me with a smile.
“So I think, 'what the hell' and I move to the empty seat. I look the little boy in the eyes and he's a little startled, but he's already quieting down. I take a deep, dramatic breath and sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider with big gestures.”
The Itsy Bitsey Spider is his go-to tantrum or go-to-bed
song. It’s one of the many small things I love about this man.
“And the kid starts to giggle at me. I’m worried the mother is going to be horrified but all she said was – “That’s all it took?”“And then what happened?” I ask.“The kid starts to cry again and begins asking about scanning the bus pass and so I start it up again. And again. And again.At this point the whole bus is now laughing either at or with me and so I don’t hold back and sing in full volume. The mother is laughing, the kid is singing and the tantrum is long gone.”
The Athlete is still not eating his soup, just smiling at me.
“It was just a great, great part of my day.”
For whatever reason, we know a lot of people who are sick
with worry or grief heading into this holiday season. Both The Athlete and I feel the weight of it on our hearts.
Once again, I started the season with a
list of what I need to buy instead of thinking about what I really have to give. I'm finding new meaning in making a list and checking it twice.
And so last night, The Athlete and I came to the same
conclusion: We need to make a new kind of list. We need to find more room for simple, unfettered acts of kindness this holiday
season.
We can give gifts like the Itsy Bitsy Spider to a tired mom;
we can reach out to friends who are struggling; relatives who are
distancing; and strangers who just seem to need a little warmth in the cold. So often people need help more than they
need stuff. But why does help seem harder to give?
The Looms, Xboxes, Legos. Smartwool and i-pads will all
eventually end up left behind, broken or outgrown. But a little encouragement, an act of forgiveness, a gesture
of healing or support could, I bet, be the lasting kind of gift we’re all
desperate to give this year.
I just put my toddler down for a nap and we read an
illustrated story of the first Christmas. It begins with a young family hoping for someone to open a door.
Joseph asks over and over:
“Will you open your door for us?”
Is it that simple this year? Opening doors and letting the
light out or maybe, just maybe, letting the light in.
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| Sometime help is hard work, sometimes its not. I'm not sure which this is... |
