On humanity
She was only 51, she thought. The sunlight reflected off the Suburban’s hood and filled the windshield, temporarily blinding her. The flash of warmth bathed the car’s interior and felt good. It felt in direct contrast to the scene she had just left.
She was only 51 but that’s more time than many had with their parents, she knew. Driving away from the image of her father lying in his hospice bed, she looked to the light on her dashboard indicating the fuel tank was empty. The sense of defeat made her arms feel heavy. She’d always been energetic, an optimist, but, the weight of her father’s illness hung on her. Her mind wasn’t clear.
The Suburban rumbled to the pump and the brakes squeaked a little when she stopped. “Come on,” she said to herself, “the gas tank’s on the other side.”
She swung around to the pumps on the other side of the island. She got out and looked at the side of the car. The tank was still opposite of the pump.
“How’d I do this?” she wondered, trying to laugh at herself but knowing what she felt was despair.
She turned the car for the third time and pumped the gas. It suddenly dawned on her that she needed to get a bag of ice so she waited for the pump to shut off, went inside the gas station, and bought a 10-pound bag to take home. Placing it on the seat next her, she started the Suburban and pulled away. Then, she heard it.
Something slapped the side of the Suburban hard. Her eyes shot to the side mirror. The gleaming red gas nozzle stuck out of the car, the hose dragging behind it.
When I was a kid, I liked the quiet darkness of my early morning paper route. True, I hated waking up before sunrise and I didn’t fully appreciate walking several miles. I’d stroll with that heavy newspaper bag weighing down my shoulders with my Walkman earphones on listening to the radio. Seems like they’d play Eddie Rabbit’s “I Love a Rainy Night” at 4:30 every morning. It’d get stuck in my head the rest of the day, just like it’s getting stuck in your head now.
I learned a vital life lesson while delivering those papers. I learned that keeping the newspapers dry, delivering them on time, and placing them within easy reach of the door made all the difference in the world. The vital life lesson had nothing to do with newspaper delivery at all, but everything to do with little jobs. I learned that you tell the world who you are by the way you do small tasks; by the small ways you make life easier for others.
We are often witness to people who simply do the right thing. Like that guy who picks up a gum wrapper off the sidewalk that he didn’t drop. Or, that woman who walks her grocery cart back to the store corral to make it easier on store staff. We notice those moments. We notice when people seek the maximum impact even for little things.
Certainly, there are times we don’t feel like fulfilling even the basic requirements of life. We don’t feel like contributing and advancing whatever community to which we belong. That’s when the urge to take is overwhelming and the urge to funnel benefits without the prerequisite effort overcomes us.
That’s also when an important characteristic should kick in: duty. To default to doing one’s duty is to ensure that the community advances and the benefits abound regardless of how we feel. It’s odd that some feel so obligated to duty while others have never bothered to explore its meaning.
The woman in the Suburban opened her door and jumped out, expecting to see a spray of gasoline. Fortunately, the pump automatically shut off. She pulled the nozzle from her gas tank and slowly started reeling in the hose that had broken free. Her heart pounded and the tears climbed from her soul to her eyes.
A man in scrubs had been pumping gas next to her. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with arms outstretched as if getting ready to catch her. Despite the thoughts bombarding her mind, she noticed he looked tired and probably had worked a late shift at the hospital next door. “Are you OK?” he asked.
She sniffed. “No, no, I’m not OK. My dad is in hospice and I’m a wreck and I don’t know how I did this.”
He stood still for a moment, then walked closer to her and took the gas line from her hands. “I got this. You go take care of your family.”
You tell the world who you are by the way you do small tasks; by how you make life easier on others. It’s more than duty, it’s more than compassion, it’s more than being part of a community.
It’s the fact there is a certain sense of self that refuses to look the other way.
It’s humanity.