Random Acts of Kindness

 

as submitted to the AARP Bulletin

 

I saw them out of the corner of my eye, so I made a u-turn,  doubled back, and parked.

     It was two kids, a boy and a girl. They couldn't have been more than 7 or 8, and they were selling cup cakes for 50 cents a pop. So I bought 4 that my bathroom scale said I didn’t need, and paid with 2 dollar bills I took out of my wallet. I also gave them all the change in my pocket as a tip. It was substantial. It came close to five bucks. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my father, it’s to always buy something from a kid in a make-shift stand.

     You see, my father could never drive past any kid selling drinks or snacks, without stopping to joke with them buy more than he needed, and leave them with a generous tip besides.

     As a kid, I only cared about the drink or pastry that was heading my way. As a teenager, I didn’t care at all.

     “Aw, dad,” I’d gripe.  I don't know why I was in such a hurry to get nowhere, but I was. Another thing I was, was obnoxious. “Do we have to stop for every kid who’s selling something?”

     “Why not?” my dad once answered me, simply. And then he casually threw out, "Hey, remember the time you had a lemonade stand?”

     “Whatever,” I exhaled, fully expecting it to turn into another life lesson or character-building experience for me.

     I couldn’t have been more than 10, when late one hot summer afternoon I got the notion to sell lemonade. It was hot, people were thirsty, and besides isn’t that what kids do?

     I spent the next hour preparing. I borrowed my parent’s poker table and a fold-out chair. I got the cigar box I kept my baseball cards in and emptied it out, I needed the room for all the money I was going to make. And I used up all of my mom’s lemons and most of her sugar making my tart concoction. Now…

     All I needed were customers.

     I sat outside in the hot sun and waited. Time passed and I waited some more.

     No one came. No one stopped.

     The ice in my mother’s pitcher slowly melted. I waited some more. Eventually, the ice melted completely. Now all I was left with was the heat, some warm, watered down lemonade, and no customers. Around that time, my dad got home from work. He was a police officer, and he was still wearing his uniform.

     “What are you selling, son?” he asked, cheerfully.

     “Lemonade,” I answered, probably not sounding as cheerful.

     He peeked inside my cigar box. It looked sad and lonely.

     “No customers?” he asked, trying to stay positive.

     “No, dad.”

     I got up, ready to call it a day. If it was anything, it was a life lesson and character-building experience for me. My first.

     Did I say I had no customers? Well, that’s not completely true. I did have one very generous customer at the end of my day.

     My dad.

    

Raising My Father

    RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com

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