Grampy’s words of wisdom finally sinking in

When I was six years old, my Grampy stole two bucks from me.

We were delivering hot dinners as part of the Meals on Wheels program he and my Grammy founded and ran from the basement of their church. One of the recipients — and these were not well-off people — gave me a $2 bill, either as a tip or as a general reward for my overall cuteness.

“You can’t keep that money,” Grampy said as we got back in the car. “It has to go back to the church to help pay for the meals.”

“But she gave it to me!” I protested, my hopes for a candyfuelled sugar high shattering like a dropped Lik-A-Stix.

“There are givers and takers in this world,” Grampy said, not unkindly. “And we are givers.”

Except I haven’t been. Not really.

While my grandparents spent a significant portion of their lives devoted to philanthropic causes — they gave both their money and their time — I’ve been sorely lacking on both fronts.

I’ve got plenty of excuses of course. Despite my exceedingly decent house in an increasingly leafy subdivision and all the trappings of middle-class life, money always feels tight when it comes time for giving. I can afford those new bike wheels but a few dollars for a worthy cause is somehow beyond my means. It’s ridiculous.

And I’m a busy guy, too busy to spend my time helping out. Sure, I coached my kids’ soccer team for a season or two and sat on the board of my local cycling club for a bit — mostly as an excuse to drink beer and talk bikes once a month — but otherwise I have a full schedule of TV watching and general laziness to keep.

Then the pandemic hit and doing a whole lot of nothing became less bearable somehow. Sure, I’ve got some workfrom-home projects, my teenage kids require some attention and there is a Honey-Do list that I’m chipping away at. But I felt kind of helpless while other people worked hard to control the chaos of a health and economic crisis.

So when my local food bank put out a desperate call for volunteers, I decided to put my name forward. As a family that has adhered to social-distancing standards pretty rigorously, we discussed the risk and rewards and decided it was worth it.

The work is far from glamorous. Two mornings a week I work in a warehouse hefting boxes and sorting through donations. We all wear masks and social-distance the best we can while the people working with clients have face shields. I wouldn’t call it fun, exactly, but there’s a certain sense of camaraderie that’s enjoyable.

And it’s nice to feel like I’m making a contribution to my community, however small.

At some point, my life will likely change again and the demands on my time will increase: I may not always have two mornings to give. But I’m resolved to find a way to continue to be more of a giver, just like Grampy said.