I had trouble sleeping last night and they aired the movie on t.v. so I watched it again. Because I like human behavior and to peel back the layers of the onion, it was difficult for me not to look at the subtext of successive generations of alcoholism and care taking that lead "Trevor" to question at an early age whether or not his behavior could indeed change the world.
I began thinking about the nicest thing that I had ever done for someone was and I picked something. I used to have a subordinate who was older than I was, but who was poor. Really poor. I saw him once break down and cry because he had lost his bus pass for the month and didn't have $35.00 to replace it. His mother had died in a fire when he was 7 and he and his sister were raised by a neighbor whom he always called his aunt. There was a dichotomy in his life. On the one hand, they were staunchly Catholic; on the other hand staunchly prideful that they wouldn't accept charity so they suffered along 'well enough' and made do with the little bits and bobs of what he did have.
I noticed one day that underneath his shirt, I could see that he had holes ripped through in the armpits of his undershirt. Over the next few weeks, I would nonchalantly ask him one question at a time about his sizes. I was dating a guy who was about as big as he was, and what size shirt did he wear because my 'date' had a birthday coming up...
In the end, I bought him a few packages of underwear and tee shirts. I told him that my mother had bought them for my dad at the flee market, they couldn't be returned; did he think they would fit him? That made it easy for him to say yes.
Then I thought about what other people might have thought from their end about me. There was the time I saw a hit a run; Robyn was in the car with me--I said to her 'I have to do this' and I turned my car around, followed the car that had done the hitting, waited for them to get to a stop sign, wrote down the license plate number and reported it to the police. The police called me at about 6 pm that night to tell me that the guy who was hit finally came in to write a report. All that he knew was that the car was red. They told me that they wouldn't have solved the case without me.
There was the time that I found a wallet in Target and called every number I could find in it--including a number for a vet until someone found her. She had lived in Florida, was in NJ for a few days and then off to California for vacation. She told me I had saved her life. I hadn't, but there was time that I did.
Her name was Tracy and she was about 2 years old. I was life guarding. Her mom had given her something to drink with ice cubes in it; she started choking. I picked her up by the feet, turned her upside down and started hitting her back until it dislodged.
There was the time when I had a contractor that I knew call me to tell me there was a vacant property around the corner from one that he was working on--and that he couldn't afford to buy both--but if I could make something happen, to remember him. I did. I bought that house; flipped it to another contractor, and ultimately made $58,000.00. I thought that I could call him and give him a check or to do something more fun. So I had my attorney write to him, include a check for $10,000.00 and just say Fran said thanks.
So when I got my phone call from the contractor I heard the whole story. How he saw the letter from the lawyer and his heart started racing wondering 'oh no, who's suing me?' He told me he was shaking as he opened it but couldn't believe what he saw. As it turned out, it took me close to a year to do that deal; he couldn't believe that I made it happen, that I remembered him for doing that and best of all, that he had fallen on some hard times and needed the cash, as he said, more badly than I'd ever know. He invited me to a party that he was having that weekend and as he walked me around the room and introduced me, he told every single person the story of how he got the check. I knew that he'd be telling that story forever.
Just a couple of months ago, I was having trouble with my Blackberry, so I headed to my phone provider's store. As I started to walk from the parking lot to the curb, right up against it was a cell phone; a very nice cell phone; same phone provider and for a split second I thought about keeping it; but then I did what I would have wanted someone to have done for me. I called the last number that had been outgoing and asked if this was a familiar number to them. The girl on the other end said that it was; it was her mother's phone. I told her that I had it and did she have another way to be in touch with her; and I gave her my number. Within a half hour I had given the phone back...I didn't even get a thank you. Until this moment, I hadn't told anyone that story.
I've thought about the countless people that I've helped save their home from tax sales and foreclosure sales without ever getting one thin dime for doing so. I get called an Angel. My mother used to call me her angel; so did my first boyfriend; I wish the term made me happier, but the connection to it has a sadness associated with it.
I thought about my parents and how I did what needed to be done for them through their illness and ultimately their deaths; and it frightens me that I'm alone and who would do that for me? Who would would be committed enough say kaddish for me for a year? Who would light yahrzeit candles at my remembrance? Would it be someone who didn't have to? The way that I do for my cousin Marshall. It's not an obligation, but I do it, because he was family. Not by blood, but in my heart. Being a woman, sometimes it just behooves you to take a step back and hide your light under a bushel.
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