The Jacket off Her Back

                                                   

                                                  Author's mother, Joyce Sandell, circa 1996
   

Each month, our WordWranglers’ group discusses what that month’s theme should be, and because this blog group is made up of a group of writers, we try to adhere to the whole reason for starting this blog, which was to write about writing, even if loosely so.  But all too often I stray from the purpose at hand. I did so again this month when I suggested that we tell some feel good stories; ones that show us the best in humanity, ones that make us feel a little more hopeful and encouraged about the world, and about life in general.  I figured if ever that theme was a good one to write about, it would be now.  So, here’s one of my favorite feel good stories. 

Believe it or not, South Florida gets a few days each winter that remind people what season it is.  When I was growing up in Miami, there were quite a few days that dipped well below the 50 degree mark and because we lived in an old house that didn’t have central heat and air, Mama would bring a kerosene heater into our bedroom and say, “Bundle up, girls, it’s cold outside today!”  She loved a brisk chill in the air and so did the rest of the family.  After all, it gave us a chance to light the wood-burning fireplace and don our little-worn winter clothing.  To a lot of people, temperatures hovering around 40 degrees may not seem very cold at all but when you’re on a peninsula, surrounded by water, with a breeze blowing, 40 feels like 30 every place else.  It always amused me how tourists or those who had moved down from colder climates were amazed at how cold it could feel.  “I’m chilled to the bone,” they’d say, and I couldn’t disagree. 

On one of those rare cold days, Mama was standing in line at the post office when she noticed a scantily clad woman who looked to be in her mid-forties line up behind her.  The bedraggled-looking lady was barefooted and wore nothing more than a thin nightgown.  Quietly, she stood there, patiently awaiting her turn, with goose bumps covering her exposed skin, and my mother’s heart broke for her.  She realized that this woman lived in a world—perhaps of a fractured mind’s making—that was unlike any she could imagine. 

Mama shrugged out of her warm jacket.  “Honey,” she said gently to the woman, “you look cold.  Here, take my jacket.”  She held the garment up so that the woman could slip her own arms into it.  The woman didn’t protest, but turned around, instead, and allowed my mother to help her on with the garment. 

“What size shoes do you wear?” my mother asked, ready to untie her sneakers and hand those over to the woman, as well. 

“Six,” she softly replied. 

“Well, these are a seven and a half, but if you put my socks on, too, they should do all right for you.”  

Mama bent down to start untying the first shoe when she heard another woman in line say, “Here.  I wear a six and a half.  They’ll fit her better.”  Straightening up, Mama saw an older woman, standing a couple of people ahead of her in line, bend down and untie her own sneakers. 

“She can have my socks,” a teen-aged boy who had fallen in line behind the freezing woman offered.  Immediately, he took off  his hiker boots then pulled off thick wool socks and handed them to her. 

Next, a man towards the front of the line pulled a navy knit cap off his head and relayed it back through the line to the woman in need. This was followed by a teen-aged girl passing back her rhinestone-encrusted, glitzy gray gloves to the woman, as well. 

Finally, the lady who had come through the door with barely a stitch on was fully clothed, and though the outfit she wore looked exactly like what it was—a randomly thrown together outfit of mismatched pieces—she was fully clothed, and wrapped up warmly in kindness, compassion and selflessness. 

I can’t help but think that everyone left the post office feeling a little differently than they did coming in.  Maybe, just maybe, the residue of that few minutes in line stayed with them for quite a while that day; long enough to spread a few more acts of kindness, or to feel compelled to reach out to someone in need.  For when we give something of ourselves to others; time, a simple smile, a word of encouragement, or even a jacket on a cold winter’s day, it triggers something inside of us that makes us want to do more and more good in this world.  When we do that, we not only fill the hearts of others, but we fill our own hearts, as well.  And that is a need as basic as breathing is.