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Holidays 2007: What I learned over Thanksgiving
By
Published: Dec 01, 2007
Category:
Beyond Classification
The Attitude Is Gratitude: What I Learned Over Thanksgiving
Shortly before Thanksgiving, a smart reader and smarter friend pushed Maynard & Jennica my way. She loved this new novel, she said, and knew I would. And the Times hadn’t reviewed it yet, so if I started reading that evening….
I’m always interested in a good, short book. And I have a dullard’s competitive streak. But I couldn’t get past page two. A few days later, I tried again. Page four. A few days later…page five. Three strikes, I’m out — I gave up.
So I went to the corner bookstore. I flipped through many new books. None interested me. The literary fiction seemed overly literary, the non-fiction too bulky.
That same week, my wife and I went to see No Country for Old Men. Fun to watch? Of course. The Coen brothers cannot make a dull film; the look and sound and pacing alone are worth the price of admission. But the story — from a Cormac McCarthy novel — is the kind of meaningless garbage that critics adore because the closest character to a hero, always destined to be played by Tommy Lee Jones, dispenses inane lines about “choice” and “chance” that would induce cackles if anyone actually said this stuff in southwest Texas.
Can’t read new books. Hate critically acclaimed movies.
And that’s just the tip of my iceberg.
After spending a quarter of a century climbing the greasy pole of slick journalism, the only magazine I can even stand to skim is The New Yorker. I have a large stake in the Presidential election, yet every time I tune in to the campaign, the press is asking all the wrong questions. I can’t think of single thing I desperately want to buy. I don’t even miss Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. And on and on….
Am I losing it? Have I lost it? And am I the only one who has?
It was in this state that I went to the first Jewish coming-of-age ceremony — in this case, a Bat Mitzvah; that is, the celebrant was a girl turning thirteen — I’ve attended in 45 years. The service was held in a synagogue where the members knew one another well and genuinely cared for one another. An Internet community is one thing. Real life, when it’s good, is remarkable.
But the service was nothing compared to the party that night. Held in the performing arts center of a suburban college, it began with a film celebrating my friends’ daughter. I knew her story: My friends found a litttle girl in a Hungarian orphanage, fell in love at first sight, and invested so much care and love in her that you’d never know she’s not just another sweet kid who gets good grades, plays on sports teams and texts with flying thumbs.
As I say, I knew the story, but then the film started, and there we were in the orphanage. I dissolved. A lot of guests did. Because it was obvious: This was a kid with no shot. But my friends — for no reason other than goodness — plucked her out of her crib and gave her a life.
There was a dinner and dancing afterward, and although I can be as snarky about parties as I can be about culture I don’t like, you’ll hear none of that here. Everyone at my table couldn’t have been nicer or smarter, the band wasn’t offensively energetic, the caterer had a clue. But what made the dinner for me was the toast from the just-out-of-college brother, which began with him admitting he had been very happy as the one kid in the house, only to learn from the acquisition of a sister that he was meant to be a brother. And then he brought out his sax and his father strapped on his guitar and they and some friends joined with them to play a few songs with the band, starting with James Taylor’s “Shower the People You Love With Love.” I misted over again. Anyone would.
You can say, well, that’s a very nice story and let the emotion pass. That’s what we usually do when we hear accounts of unprovoked nobility; we have to, we tell ourselves, or our feelings would incapacitate us. But I suspect we know better — for the simple reason that, in our own way, we suspect that we too are motivated less by self-interest than by the desire to serve and help.
It’s a cliche: No one is more rewarded than the donor. So I could say that what I saw in that family and their community opened my heart — however briefly — and made me see my cultural gridlock as lazy, unworthy and unimportant. Or the cynic in me could say that I should give more to get more. But when I get to the bottom of what I really think, this is what I see: We are, all of us, a lot harder on ourselves than we ought to be, and we really are — my complicated self included — pretty good people looking for a way to love and be loved without embarrassing ourselves.
Well, ain’t this the medium for that! You can give and no one will ever know. In the Holiday Gift Guide, I’ve suggested four causes I care about:
Kiva.org isn’t a charity site, it’s an investment opportunity. Select an entrepreneur, make a small loan, watch it get paid back. As he explains in Banker to the Poor, Nobel Peace Prize winner Muhammad Yunus saw that the poor are actually good risks. And every struggling person whose business he jumpstarted was one more family moving up the ladder. Now you can be a banker.
The Heifer Project turns your money into farm animals for people who would happily turn them into more animals — and more moneyfor them. When was the last time you gave a water buffalo?
Share Our Strength‘s commitment is to end childhood hunger. If the thought of a kid going without food haunts you, this is one of the most efficient organizations I know.
The World Wildlife Fund‘s goals include helping the rural poor create income. To reward donations, they’ll send you lovely craft bracelets from the Amazon.
Do you have causes you’d like me to share? Stories we should hear? Write me. ‘Tis the season. And it certainly feels like the right time.
