My wife and I love eating out at a certain burger joint that allows you to “dress” your own burger. How can you complain when everything but meat and bread are put there by you?
I was busy flipping through the lettuce, pickles and mayonnaise when I saw a boy, about six years old, having fits with the ketchup dispenser. He had more ketchup on him, on the counter, and on the floor than in the little paper container. I told him that since he had a free hand, I would get the ketchup out of him if he held the container under the faucet.
Mission accomplished, as I re-made my burger. But when the boy turned to walk away, he looked at me and smiled.
“Thank you!” she said softly.
I have to tell you, his thanks trumped some ketchup in the cup. I almost felt guilty that I hadn’t done even more for the boy. In fact, this little 30-second scenario reminded me of something my grandmother taught me when she was about the same age as the ketchup boy.
Winters in Texas
One of my biggest thrills as a youngster came in the winter when my grandmother was staying with us in South Texas. Her husband, my mother’s father, died when I was a baby. Consequently, the loneliness and harsh Oklahoma winters convinced Grandma to come south by train to stay with us during the colder months.
I have always cherished our time together, although those opportunities diminished somewhat when my sister and cousins arrived. On one occasion, however, it was just Grandma and me. We had the whole house to ourselves and a great plan for what to do with the opportunity: We were going to make a batch of cookies.
A cookie problem
Now Grandma’s sugar cookies were legendary. With a bit of pleading, I convinced her to quadruple the recipe. When the cookies came out of the oven, I soon realized that there weren’t enough jars in the house to hold them all.
True to her no-nonsense ways, Grandma solved the cookie problem. She made me put the excess cookies in sandwich bags while she cleaned up the kitchen and grabbed her sweater. We then call neighbors from across the block and share our bounty with them. It was an exercise in generosity and grateful reception that has stayed with me all these years.
never out of style
Reading this, I’m sure there will be those who say that this kind of kindness has gone out of style, that it wouldn’t work anymore. Who would dare take those cookies from a semi-stranger at their doorstep today? And, even if they did take them, would they really eat them? Who will say it?
Still, if she were with us today, I think my grandmother, for example, would be teaching her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren that any kindness, however small, still account
Maybe that even includes a couple of squirts of ketchup.
