My grandmother kept two freezers full of food at all times; she was a product of the Great Depression, born in 1916. Every time she saw a neighbor, or the garbage man, or the mail carrier, she offered him something from her home. A cookie. A juice box. Perhaps something she made that morning.
My grandmother was very social, and she knew everyone in the neighborhood. People were constantly stopping by to see her, gifts in hand, and she always had something in return. She was known and remembered her for her generosity of spirit.
“It’s nice to be nice,” my grandmother used to say on a regular basis.
I heard her, but I thought it was just one of those silly things that grandmothers say. I didn’t know it was her mantra.
My mother learned how to be nice from her mother, and the lessons stuck. My mother is an East Coast-born Sicilian with a sharp tongue and a tendency to speak her mind (so now you know where I get it), but she is also known for being someone to count on. She is the first in line to offer help and kindness to anyone who needs it.
In fact, at this writing, for the past two weeks, my mother has been keeping vigil at the bedside of a friend who suffered a double stroke. Nearly every day, she has arrived in the morning and left in the late afternoon, breaking only for lunch at the hospital.
My mother doesn’t see this friend often; she didn’t know her husband well. But it’s someone who means something to her in her life and has known for many years, and she feels that being there for her is where she needs to be.
It was snowy and cold outside, but I had another appointment and I was out, and I thought I should go and sit with her and her husband and keep him company, she told me when she first heard of her friend’s stroke.
“Are you going to go every day”? I asked her, after a few days.
Yes, she said. No one should have to sit at the hospital alone. I remember what it was like, all of those times I took you to the hospital. At least you could talk to me.
And so she has. Every day, she greets other visitors and mutual friends, brings old cards and scrapbooks she has saved and reads to her. My mother tells her stories about shared experiences. Just in the last couple of days, her friend has opened her eyes and started to talk again. My mother is there to hear her start over again. She is there to keep her friend’s husband company and give him the opportunity to talk to another adult who cares about his wife, too. He has come to depend on her these last couple of weeks, and they are in constant contact, checking on her friend’s condition and sharing stories and hope.
My mother has always shown me the way to doing the right thing. She doesn’t shy away from funerals or miscarriages or heart attacks. She brings meals to families who need help. She knows what to say in every situation; and even if she’s not sure, she makes her best effort.
It’s nice to be nice, she reminds me.
This summer, the father of my high school boyfriend passed away two days before I was scheduled to come home to my parents’ house for vacation. I asked my high school sweetheart’s wife if she would mind if I came to the funeral, because it seemed like the right thing to do for his family. His wife is a lovely, warm person who is not threatened by flames that burned out more than two decades ago.
I told my mother I was going, and she said, “We’ll come with you.”
Of course they would. There was no hesitation, no “Let me check my schedule” or “I’m not sure if we should go”.
My parents drove my son and me to the church for the memorial service, and my mother gave the deceased’s new widow a big hug and whispered words in her ear that brought a grateful smile.
And now, I try to emulate this spirit, passing down the line. There are friends with sick children, downtrodden spirits, traveling husbands. There are so many ways to be helpful. Drop off homemade cookies. Or share a book with someone. Or just come and sit. Send a text. Take five minutes to call.
If I make half the effort my mother and grandmother made, I am doing something good. It doesn’t have to be a big thing in time or money to mean something big to someone who needs a little help.
I have seen it come back to me a hundredfold.
Have you ever heard that someone is “too nice”? It’s not supposed to be an insult. It should be a compliment.
Nice doesn’t mean weak. Nice doesn’t mean you let people step on you. Nice means that you care. It means that you consider others’ feelings. Nice means that you try to make the world a better place.
In the writing world, my guest post at Beyond Your Blog has blown me away with the response. The comments section is overflowing with thank-you-for-the-encouragement notes, and my inbox includes a few hey-I-have-a-question-do-you-mind-helping-me-too messages. It is lovely and encouraging for me to see, too, how women come together and rally around a positive force. If you are as good as your circle of friends, I am in excellent shape, indeed.
It doesn’t take much to put a “hey, you can do it!” out into the world instead of a “this is too hard, so don’t bother” message.
Last week, my son was sick and was out of school for more than a week, and no fewer than five friends called or sent texts offering to run errands, get groceries, pick up prescriptions. They have dropped off treats, coloring books, movies to watch, activities to do while at home. They email and call and text and ask me how we’re doing. They have made me feel loved.
It’s nice to be nice. I hear you, Grandma. Loud and clear.And I hope, with all of my heart, that I do your legacy justice… and that my son learns how to be nice, too.
Love,
Kristin
You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, The Huffington Post, and she can be reached at kvanderhey at hotmail dot com.
The Two Cannoli family is made up of me, my husband (who prefers to be mostly anonymous), our son, our extended family, and bevy of fantastic friends. We live in one of the most fantastic cities in the country: Austin, Texas.
A few of the posts that will tell you the most about me can be found here, and here, and here.
Mostly, I talk about family and friends and my experiences as a parent. But I also cover some tough topics, like sexual abuse, rape, and domestic violence. If you have a story to tell and need someone to tell it for you, contact me and I’ll help you find the words. It is freeing to unleash a secret that has weighed you down.
You are right, kindness is not a weakness. Thanks for sharing this story. It is nice to be nice.
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Kindness isn’t a weakness! I like your blog
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Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.
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Wow! Amazing!
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Reblogged this on After Midnight: A Christian Bipolar and commented:
Wow! I see where she gets it!
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Inspiring! We had such a great response to your guest post on Beyond Your Blog. Your kindness has won you a lot of fans.
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Beautiful post; the title made me think of Jewel’s song, Hands.
So true, Only kindness matters.. so easy for some and difficult for others.
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Grandmothers are very special people in our lives and teach us many things. I enjoyed your post.
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Your grandma and mother rock! This blog touches my heart because people seem to disregard the aging process and what we do now, matters. It matters more than a new car or house. Recently, I lost a good friend of around 35 or more years. I remember the day he died, saying to me, Larry I love you man! Two hours later he had passed away and I got the phone call. I keep his name and number on my phone and we used to speak two hours a day some times and discussing his coming death from Heart attacks and Leukemia. He was isolated in a motel (legal reasons) and hardly a soul visited him. I could not be a person who turns their back on a fellow human. When my dad died, I was holding his hand. I told his wife that he had passed and she starting crying. As hard as it was, I said, “his puppy would be waiting for him, wagging his tail.” She laughed and somehow I knew it would be alright, for him and our family.
Some deep fissures had arisen between the family and dad, but again, as we lay practically inert, we begin to realize that the past two seconds of our lives matter. Looking past abuse, verbal and otherwise, we find ourseleves. I was not cursed but blessed. I was blessed to help others because the pain is so real but the healing you see take place is all worth it.
My own sister and dad made up and she didn’t know it, til I told her what her phone call meant the night before he died. I told her that her call came when he was in a drug-induced stupor but was instantly coherent with the call. To see his relief and hers is something that words cannot describe. Family, love and charity. We do this because we will be the person say, “Larry. I love you man”. To be needed is indescribable.
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Thank you for sharing from your own experiences and sorry for your losses.
Your insightful comment is much appreciated.
Best, Mike.
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This made me think of my nanna she was the kindest person and always had a smile, kind word or gift for everyone, I only say was because the Alzheimer’s has taken so much from her, I saw her this morning as I do every Wednesday just to check in and make sure is ok
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My grandmother was very similar, wherever she went she would take jars of marmalade, or sweets, or other gifts to give to anyone that. She thought deserved it – & in her thoughts, everyone deserved it! Even the postman would get a peppermint Everytime he delivered to her.
She was one of the kindest people that I have ever met. She would go without something herself, just to be able to give to others. Unfortunately people did sometimes take advantage of her but that didn’t deter her.
Over the years I admired her kindness but sometimes thought she was being a bit silly, however since I got divorced & so am now responsible for my own finances, I find that I am doing similar things.
I happily share what I have with those in need, be it a small donation or something much more practical. I’m told I am being silly, but like my grandmother, i don’t mind. My life is blessed with all that I need so why shouldn’t I give some of it away? I know that people take advantage of me but it really doesn’t matter. I have something far more precious than money – that wonderful sense of wellbeing that I feel whenever someone accepts my gift.
I am very humbled to be able to walk in my Grandmother ( & Great Grandmothers’) footsteps. They taught me well x
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Just read it to the shelter cats. They loved it.
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