A Little Holiday Tear

Ok. I have a confession to make. This time of year makes me a little teary. You may not like to admit it, but I but there are a number of you holiday softies out there too.

Maybe it’s the outpouring of good will. Maybe it’s the fact that in a season of family I’m reminded that my own parents who died when I was in my twenties never saw their granddaughter who just turned one. Maybe it’s because another year is drawing to a close, which is both exciting and bittersweet.

Even though I can’t say why for sure, the point is that come December little things make me more than a little emotional. Sometimes that emotion is sadness—like when I think about how my dad never got to taste how I finally perfected the traditional holiday rum cake made in his island of Trinidad. Or when I consider that my daughter Sophia is a miniature of my mother—especially her sparkling smile.

Often it can be silly things too. A particular rendition of a Christmas song I’ve heard a million times (well, maybe not a million, but about 1,000 times this season alone). Or a favorite childhood holiday special (The Year Without a Santa Claus gets me every time).

Another sure tear jerker seems to be watching others’ act of kindness. Every year, for example, my brother Ramesh goes to the main post office in Manhattan and gets letters from needy kids asking “Santa” for toys. My brother frets for days racing around the city trying to find them exactly what they ask for. He stands in lines that under normal circumstances would send him into a snit. He worries that the money he is spending is not enough. He wonders if he can buy for 3 kids why not maybe 5 or 6.

This side of him would come as a surprise to many people who know him in his professional and private life. When I think about my brother who only wishes he could do more, I feel like weeping with pride.

The kindness of strangers can be even more moving. Today, for example, I was standing online at a bookstore waiting for gift wrapping by a young volunteer from National Institute for People With Disabilities His learning disabled partner’s job was to recruit folks to take advantage of free gift wrapping in return for a donation.

In front of me in line was an older man I pegged as a gruff type. Heavyset and white-haired he looked like a retired drill sergeant and when he sat down at that table he abruptly asked the young man what the organization was about. He told him and pointed out the lady recruiting customers.

“She was even in Special Olympics,” he said.
To this the man nodded and sat back in his chair.
Soon the lady returned with a frothy drink from the bookstore coffee bar.
“I got a moccachino,” she announced as she sat down.
The man studied her and answered, “Did you now?”
“Yes,” she said smiling broadly.
Then he leaned over and said, “I heard you were in the Special Olympics?”
“Yes!” she said.
“Well that’s great!,” he said brightly. “What did you do?”

Then the two launched into an animated conversation about ball throwing and running and how many kids the man had and how many grandkids and oh, just about everything.

Watching this I felt a little lump in my throat. This man was not who I narrow-mindedly thought he was. This was a kind man. This was a man who listened.

So, here’s my thought: Are any of us really what others peg us for? Probably not. And it shouldn’t take the holidays for us to realize it.