Pay It Forward


    I’m translating her advice into my words: better to do something more than you should, than to not do enough.


    And so I blame Kelley, in part, when I perhaps did again –more than I should have.


    Because it’s still good advice.


    I think.


    I’ve been warned to the contrary.


    Kelley and I both have been scolded for being “too nice.”


    Sometimes -maybe.


    Not such a horrible moniker, though, is it?


    Kelley is also one who tells me frequently that I’m doing just what I was meant to do. Finally. With the whole writing thing, of course, but also at the little college where I play life coach and tutor to semi-adults trying to navigate through their lessons and their lives. And it’s in this setting where I inch too close to that more-than-you-should.


    I don’t care.


    I can handle the consequences of too-much much better than I can the what-ifs which arise from not doing enough.


    My guess is that the roots to the philosophy go pretty deep.


    Our holiday dinners offer apt metaphor. You might see it all as too much food; I see it as always enough. No chance of us running out of anything –ever.


    And you gotta love the leftovers.


    Maybe human interactions can also result in the spillover of thoughtfulness, with ample to share.


    So when I do for my students –even if admittedly more than I should- I don’t look for payback in reciprocal reward. I don’t really require return on an investment of kindness.


    Maybe what I hope for, though, is a sharing of leftovers.


    Paying it forward.


    It wasn’t a literary gem or a blockbuster movie. But what a blockbuster message. And so simple.


    But the concept was ingrained in me as ideology long before the book’s publication. I think because there was always that lesson of reciprocity. You were given a gift, you gave one in return. You were invited to dinner, you invited in kind.


    But when the deed was immeasurable –and the thank you a trifle for its intended worth, the return impossible, how to repay?


    Not.


    So then to the answer of paying it forward.


    Not a bad responsibility with which to shoulder a younger friend.


    Or legacy to leave in the corner of one’s life.


    So if I do for them, perhaps they’ll do for someone else –some day.


    Maybe.


    I don’t know.


    I get a lot from these young adults I’ve come to know too well.


    I’m not entirely sure what.


    It doesn’t matter.


    I know I teach them a bit, too.


    I wonder, though, if they’ll understand the lesson of leftovers if I leave it to instinct instead of instruction. When they’re out in the world, as real grownup adults, will they intuitively sense an ongoing obligation when it’s their turn to act in kind, and in kindness?




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Revenge



    Revenge is in vogue. At least by way of the new ABC nighttime soap bearing its name.



    Never mind that the eye-for-an-eye premise from which it stems has been around for as long as time. Or that the show is an admitted rip-off of The Count of Monte Cristo.


    Revenge has come to the Hamptons. And to those of us who may be willing to wait out the plot twists that it will surely require if it is to survive beyond a single season.
    


    Judging by the wait-and-see temper of its reviews, Revenge stands a chance.


    Maybe I’ll watch it.


    Revenge as entertainment is easier for me to understand than its lifelike sister.


    My mom used to say forgive, but don’t forget.


    Doesn’t really sound like forgiving then, but I think it was a cautionary mantra. And unintentionally, I may have taken the credo to heart. Some slights, try as I might, I can’t forget. Especially as a parent, when the mark they’ve hit is my kids. 

    
But revenge? Not for me. Nor do I understand a range of other emotions like jealousy and envy. I don’t get them.


    It’s not that I can’t relate to the anger at the root of revenge; it’s just that I Ieave its carryout to karma. What goes around comes around.


   Truth is, I haven’t the stomach for vengeance. Raw emotions are hard enough when they’re fresh. I can’t imagine holding onto them as they fester and grow.

    
I’ve known many people who’ve been tested in their lives and when I think to those who have come out the other side most intact, they’re inevitably the ones who’ve been able to let go of their anger.


    I liked my mother’s friend. She always treated me well, adored my parents and my family. But beneath the smiles she offered to us, there was always the trace of a muted rage. I didn’t know the full breadth of the backstory. All I knew was that the bile of her anger tainted most every part of her life. For her entire life. I wonder if she could have overcome her illness if she had found some sooner peace. Probably not. Happy people die, too.

    
My own friend could also have hung onto her anger. For a short while, she headed down its path. Her rage sometimes spilled over on nights out when her vocabulary was colored with curses.
 
    
But at decision time, she opted out of anger. Took a pass on revenge of any sort –even the legal, court-ordered kind.

    
It wasn’t worth it. 
    
    
Not to her.


    Not to me either.



    This isn’t magnanimous gesture on my behalf. It’s not a concerted or conscious effort to take a higher road. It’s more an energy thing. And a life-is-short sort of thing. I don’t have the energy to waste on an emotion I don’t like.
 
    
And life is short. Too short to spend it plotting revenge. Maybe even too short to spend watching it.


A Perfect Son



    He is the perfect young man.

    
I can say that without hesitation. For two reasons.

    
First, he isn’t mine.




    Second, he isn’t actually perfect.




    But then that makes him more perfect, still.




    He’s made his share of bad choices. He’s done things for which I am sure he is not proud. Some of them not quite legal. But he always comes back around to who he always was.




    In kindergarten, when the teacher allowed circle time to be about the children’s requests to Santa, his peers were likely asking for Furbies and Beanies, games and gadgets. He had bigger needs. 

    
Perhaps he already had a sense of how the world worked. In his little kid view, Santa must have loomed large as the go-to guy. Santa had connections.




    So when it was his turn, he had a simple request. He didn’t want a toy or a game. He didn’t want anything. The gift he wanted wasn’t even for himself –it was for his friend.

    
He must have figured Santa was high in rank on God’s payroll because he had a favor to ask of the big G. He wanted Santa to ask God to give his friend one chance, one moment, a single phone call –to the boy’s dad.  More than anything he wanted for himself, he wanted his friend to have the chance to talk to his father, a man whom the boy had never met, who had died just before he was born.

    
Santa didn’t come through. Neither did God.

    
Apparently he forgave them both. He still prays. He still believes in a higher power.

    
He and his faith have been often tested –too many times for someone so young. 

    
The college at which I work doesn’t have too many hard-knock-life stories. And most of the kids seem to get it that they’ve got it pretty easy. But I find that even here, it’s those who are asked to shoulder the most who seem most able to gather the strength to handle the weight –same holds true for the adults I know. It’s the sentiment of a saying my mom hates –that God only gives you what you can handle.

    
I understand why she takes umbrage at it. Doesn’t seem fair to me either that a benevolent God would punish you for being strong. My mom’s pretty strong; she’s be duly punished.




    My young man is also pretty strong and he’s again being tested, being asked to step up.

    
Mother Teresa was quoted as saying, “I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle.  I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.”

    
The boy who is now an adult is too well trusted.



    By powers beyond here and by those of us who know him well. We know he will meet this next challenge as he has met so many in the past –with inner strength, quiet grace.




    I just wish he didn’t have to. It isn’t fair. And he shouldn’t be punished for being a good person.