“How do we change the world? One random act of kindness at a time.”
Morgan Freeman
I know the holidays are in the rear-view mirror, but as I was pondering kindness, one Christmas season that goes WAY back came into my mind. It was one of the most profound lessons of kindness from my childhood.
Our family had created a tradition of caroling and giving holiday goodies to a few families along our short cul-de-sac section of Larchwood Drive. We’ve never been mistaken for being a “musical family,” and as I recall, getting all of us four kids to go was a chore for my parents. So we focused on visiting the neighbors we knew well. And liked.
But, the Christmas of 1975 would be different.
I loved our street. There were only 12 houses from the corners to the dead-end circle – 6 on each side – and it was our playground. Night games of hide-and-seek, and games of kickball or some form of hitting a ball with a bat or stick were the norm. The manhole cover at the end of the cul-de-sac frequently served as home plate. Most of us could stay out until the street lights came on, and we would often squeeze out every bit of daylight before heading in for the night. When you play on the street, retrieving errant balls, hopping over hedges, cutting through yards, etc., you notice things. Like who on the street was an ally in our care-free world, and who was, well, an enemy.
It seemed my parents had their own sense of friend or foe, which happened to align with ours, for as luck would have it, we never had to go Christmas caroling across enemy lines.
Until 1975.
When I noticed more plates of cookies and fudge than we (my mom) normally prepared, I knew something was up. “We’re doing something different this year,” my dad proudly announced. “We’re caroling to ALL the neighbors on our street!” The groans were only stifled by inner confusion and mild despair. “Surely he doesn’t expect us to go to the Zielinski’s on the corner!” I thought to myself. “Or the Gurley’s! And definitely not the creepy family next door!“ I exclaimed internally. “And there was NO WAY we could visit mean ol’ Mr. Shultz!” (I swear he growled at me once when I went across his lawn to retrieve the kickball – he was the embodiment of the Scrooge, all year long!).
But that’s EXACTLY what my dad expected. And that’s exactly what we did.
“Kids,” my dad started, “we need to show kindness to ALL of our neighbors, not just the ones we like, or who make it easy to be nice to. This will be a great experience!” It was a nice speech, but we weren’t exactly “drinking the Kool-Aid.”
Only a few hours later, however, we were guzzling it! That simple, “random act of kindness” initiated by my parents was life-changing.
In the history of the Hammond family caroling, no one had ever shed a tear of thanks. Until 1975. No one had ever returned to OUR home that same night, bearing unbelievable gifts of gratitude. Until 1975. And never had the sharing of off-key holiday carols and home-made goodies profoundly shifted my perception of people. Until 1975.
Dad was right – it WAS a great experience. Clearly, it wasn’t about the goodies (although they were delicious, as always). And it certainly wasn’t about the singing. It was about kindness. It was about truly seeing those you pass by every day. It was about singling someone out to be the target of goodness, and letting them know you care enough to sing, poorly, to them. On their porch. Just to brighten their moment.
Remember “mean ol’ Mr. Shultz?” He wept.
When he opened the door, we were met with a look of confusion. Maybe even concern. But, as soon as we began singing Silent Night, Mr. Shultz’s eyes welled-up with tears. Once we finished the song, he insisted that we come in – all of us – where he served us hot chocolate, warmed with love and kindness. I don’t remember what was said as we visited – I was barely 11, and REALLY into my hot chocolate. But I’ll never forget how kindness allowed me to see my good neighbor with new eyes, and a caring heart. To see him as an ally.
I can’t say that kindness always turns enemies into allies, like it did for me and Mr. Shultz, but it’s a start. “How do we change the world?” asks Morgan Freeman. “One random act of kindness at a time.”
Let’s go change the world.
Clark Hammond, Ph.D.
Executive Director/Co-founder
STRīV
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