Season of Giving

One of the greatest pleasures of being an outsider is noticing things that others have come to expect and, at times, take for granted.

We went to lunch up the street, at the bakery/cafe our friends own. I am currently having a mad love affair with their pumpkin bisque and will be sad to see it gone. But, like all things, pumpkin bisque has a season, and I will joyfully consume it until it gives way to whatever comes next.

While we were waiting for our food, a middle-aged man came in and ordered something to go. He sat down at the table behind ours, and a few minutes later, walked over handed CS something and said, "This is for you to have on Halloween--so you'll be seen and won't get hit by a car. I've been hit. It's not fun." It was a battery-operated flashlight/lightstick with a cord so that he can wear it and have his hands free for the candy he's anxiously looking forward to. A small gift, but one so thoughtful and unexpected that it felt, for a moment, like Christmas.

It gave me enough pause that I took a minute to reflect on the unexpected gifts that are so easily overlooked.

My child, for all of his talents, is not a natural athlete. He decided he wanted to play hockey despite the fact that his first time on the ice was, for all intents and purposes, his first time skating. I worry. I worry that he'll be slow to learn, that his coaches and teammates will be impatient and unyielding, that he'll decide eventually not to pick himself up and keep going. And I would understand all of these, because all too often it is easiest and most efficient to celebrate talent and let the rest go.

My fears, so far, have been unfounded. Instead of those reproaches, he has been welcomed to the ice and the team. It is an established fact that he's not ready to play--he's slow, doesn't know the game, doesn't move with the same fluidity as the rest of the kids. But he keeps working at it. From the first session a month ago until last night's first game, he's made huge improvements in his skating ability, and he's worked harder at it that I would ever have imagined. But he still has a very long way to go. His head coach and the rest of the coaching staff, have been one of those gifts. Coach Jess said to me last week, "I was talking with the other coaches last week, and we believe he's part of our team for a reason. We're glad he's with us, because we have things to teach each other."

Last night was the first game of the season. I had prepared my boy for sitting on the bench during the game, and suggested he use the time to watch and learn and ask questions. His dad and I sat in the stands, watching a great hockey game and then, in the second period, they put him in. He wobbled out onto the ice, looking like a fawn just discovering it's newly unfolding legs. We were sitting next to his best friend's mom, and the two of us started cheering and clapping as he made his way onto the ice. And then the rest of parents in the stands, our team and theirs, joined us. He was so intent on finding his position and being aware of the game that he never heard us cheering. But I did, and it was a gift that nurtured and reminded me that it is all too easy to over look what matters the most.

There are people for whom this kind of giving is a natural as breathing. The friend who randomly sends me texts saying "I love you"; the one who finds her life's purpose in helping others out of the mire of addicition; the one who overthinks everything for fear of being insensitive or thoughtless to others when in fact she is one of the most caring, loving people I've had the privilege to meet; and the one who quietly takes care of everyone else despite the fact that his life, lately, has been one massive hurdle after another.

It is all too easy to take each of them, and each of us, for granted. Sometimes, it takes a wobbly boy on skates, and a token of caring to remind us. And that reminder, too, is a gift.