Back when I was growing up, I couldn’t wait to get the Christmas edition of the Sears catalog. My brothers and I would hunt through it to find the best toys for Santa to put under our tree. I remember wanting a football helmet, shoulder pads, and a football. Those were my big three items. As I grew older, a BB gun. We lived out in the country next to what was then the Milwaukee River. We had a huge yard where we would choose up sides for football or softball. The yard next to the river would be great for shooting my BB gun.
There were two things I didn’t know at the time I paged through the Sears catalog. The first was that Santa didn’t exist. I believed Santa to be real. I swallowed that fairy tale hook, line and sinker. Most kids did, or do, I guess. My own certainly did until they got older. The second thing I didn’t realize was that my family was poor. Whatever it was, we wanted out of that catalog, it was up to my mom and dad and their meager finances to secure. Even as I think back on it now these many, many years since, I feel guilty.
Yes, I did get my helmet, shoulder pads and football. And yes, I eventually got a BB gun when I was older.
The thing is, I ended up outgrowing my helmet and shoulder pads. Yes, I wore them in and out of football season, but I grew. Eventually, they ended up in the toy box. After that, who knows where they ended up. The dump or Goodwill, I suppose. The football and BB gun lasted the longest, but eventually, the football ended up as a toy for the dog, who punctured it as she played fetch with us. I don’t know what happened to the BB gun. Gone, but I still remember it fondly.
Those things I wanted, well, I grew up and they grew old and became unwanted. Sadly. A memory.
I came across an article on LinkedIn. I forgot who had posted it and I’m sorry for that, because I want to name the author. But the article, like others, hit me. It goes like this . . .
A professor gave a balloon to every student, who had to inflate it, write their name on it and throw it in the hallway. The professors then mixed all the balloons. The students were given 5 minutes to find their own balloon. Despite a hectic search, no one found their balloon. At that point the professors told the students to take the first balloon that they found and hand it to the person whose name was written on it. Within 5 minutes everyone had their own balloon.
The professors said to the students: “These balloons are like happiness. We will never find it if everyone is looking for their own. But if we care about other people's happiness, we'll find ours too.
I thought the helmet, shoulder pads, and football, and eventually the BB gun, would make me happy. And they did, for a short or long time. But eventually, like most things, the happiness ended and I was off to seeking other things. That’s the way of it, isn’t it? Like the balloon, I searched and couldn’t find it.
What I do know now was that the helmet, shoulder pads, football, and BB gun made my parents happy because they knew and saw how much I enjoyed them. Even in their, our, poverty, they found joy in making me and the rest of us happy. As parents with our own kids, or as friends to other friends, it is that joy of giving to someone that makes us truly happy. Not so much the gift, but in the giving.
The joy, the happiness is in giving. The joy, the happiness is in helping someone else, recognizing someone else, and valuing someone else. When we receive something from someone, it isn’t so much what we receive, but that we were remembered by someone. That is what makes us happy. Not the gift so much as in being remembered by someone. And what makes us truly happy is in giving to someone else.
If we don’t learn anything else in this crazy year, I hope we can learn and remember to give in order to receive, to help others, to lift up others, to comfort others, because if we do that, we will be helped, and lifted, and comforted. Yes, we will end up happy. Because, in my very humble opinion, that’s what happiness is. Something to think about . . .
Live Your Life, and Make A Difference!
To My Readers:
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A late-night phone call, a missing kid, a murdered family, but no one is willing to talk. A promise is made and kept, but it could mean the death of a fifteen-year-old boy. Seeing is not believing. No one can be trusted, and the hunters become the hunted.
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It is embarrassing, but I remember the Sears catalog too. My Grandma would always hand me a copy before Christmas and my sister and I circled all the things we liked with a blue ballpoint pen. I have to admit there were many blue circles. It is interesting to reflect about how values change over time.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comment. I think age allows us, perhaps, to see what has a lasting meaning, as well as what doesn't.
ReplyDelete