Tag: Help

The Value of Being Neighborly

I’m a day late and a dollar short on this blog. This year, I intended to spend time on the weekends and post each Monday. We’re still in January and I’m already posting a day late. I’m not exactly a dollar short though – I’m actually up a few dollars, unintentionally. Let’s dig in – or rather – out.

We’ve had some snow here in central Ohio. I love the snow. I embrace it and the cold of winter. I could handle longer daylight hours in the winter months, but I’ve largely found that the more I embrace the winter as it comes, the more I get out of it. A few years ago, I noticed my better half was increasing her distaste for winter weather. As such, I started scheduling time for us to go out into the winter weather while appropriately dressed for the conditions. What’s that saying? “There’s no such thing as bad weather, merely bad preparation.” Something like that. I’m happy to report, dear reader, that my diabolical plan worked. I wouldn’t say that my wife Melanie embraces the cold and snow like I do – yet – however, she has found a joy for downhill skiing and figures out how we can make time for it.

Snow and cold don’t work for everyone though. The slippery conditions can be hazardous to the less mobile and arthritic joints don’t love the colder temps. So I recognize that my embrace of winter is not the same for everyone at all stages of life. Last night, I saw a couple of neighbors post on our neighborhood Facebook group that they needed help shoveling their driveways. After I took care of my chores at home, I had time to either write a Monday blog post, or help my neighbors. I chose the latter.

I reached out per the message’s instructions and confirmed that no one else had agreed to help. After all, I don’t want to get in the way of some industrious middle- or high-schooler looking to make some valuable spending money. After confirming that my neighbors did not have any scheduled helpers, I told them I was coming to take care of their driveway. They immediately asked about payment. “No charge,” I simply replied. They politely protested. “I must pay you something.” “It is too late for you, don’t come in the dark.” I smiled and walked down with my snow shovel and quietly got started. I was already dressed in my cold weather gear from walking our dogs, so I was honestly enjoying my time out.

Two-thirds of the way through the job, the garage door opened. A venerable Indian man walked out to greet me with cash in hand. I politely protested, “I just want to be a good neighbor.” “Please,” he replied. “I won’t sleep if you don’t let me pay you for your efforts.” Now that I’m a bit older and marginally wiser, I handled this situation with a touch of poise. Younger Troy would have not taken the money and perhaps said something that took away from the dignity of the situation. Instead, I deferred and took the money. I don’t need the money, nor do I want it. However, not taking it would have made the other person feel indebted or obliged – also not what I wanted. So, I ended up getting my target step count per my fitness tracker, I helped a neighbor in need, I got some joyful time in the snow, and I earned a few unintended bucks. Well worth a late blog post!

Now the question is what to do with the money. I’ve put it in my sock drawer for now and plan to use it as ‘seed money’ to do something else positive for the neighborhood. Maybe if I shovel enough driveways this winter, I can buy some extra flowers for the flower bed at the entrance of our neighborhood in the Spring. It will be a fun, neighborly experiment!

My Mother is My Hero

My lovely Mom and me

My mother is the nicest person I know. She has kind words for everyone and she would give away her last loaf of bread. But she isn’t a pushover either. She’ll probably blush if she ever reads this, but one of my fondest memories of my Mom is this: After some completely unreasonable lady was yelling at her for something completely silly in the parking lot of our local soccer fields, my Mom flipped the lady the middle finger and spun out in the gravel parking lot. As a frame of reference, this had to be 1980 or so and my Mom would have been in her late 20’s. As we pulled away, she paused and said to me, “That wasn’t very nice. I shouldn’t have done that.” Oh, but the memory was sealed. She’s a sweetheart, but no pushover.

My mother is wise. She is discerning and knows when something isn’t right. But she chooses her words carefully to deliver the right message at the right time. There are so many examples to list, but I’ll pull from a more recent conversation. After the dust had settled from my Dad’s death and some of the hurt had started to subside, my Mom and I went out to dinner in a lovely little town of Delaware, Ohio. We met up and went to a local pizza shop for an absolutely fantastic dinner. This was an adult conversation about the past and the state of things today. When the conversation turned to Dad, Mom and I were both kind but realistic. Simply put, Dad didn’t have the tools to deal with his demons. We both articulated our understanding of this fact in our own way with all due respect. We both know that all of us have our burdens to bear. Neither of us blamed Dad for reacting in the way he did – even if we didn’t agree with it at the time. With complete and unconditional love, we celebrated my Dad that evening while looking out at life without him. I had always known that my Mom was wise, but that evening she showed me the depth of her human wisdom.

My mother is quietly confident in her faith. My mom was the backbone of our family’s adherence to Christian virtues. She took us to church when we needed it most. More importantly, she took herself to church when she needed it most. She became a Sunday school teacher, she stood up in front of a large congregation and sang her heart out, she taught my sister and me right from wrong; but treated us with kid gloves when we didn’t get it quite right.

My mother is able-bodied. Now a widower, Mom has bought her own condo, moved herself in and continues to chip away at the unpacking. She recognizes that she’s got a long life to live and a lot to contribute. Instead of throwing in the towel and pursuing her own interests, she serves her family, her community, and her church.

My mother just wants to help. If something needs done, Mom will be there. It doesn’t matter what she has going on or how she feels, service comes first. She gets value and purpose out of helping. Although I ask her not to, she still wants to give money to people on the street. She helps my sister with her school-aged children. She helps me with my not-so-school-aged children. She’s happiest when she’s helping, so give her something to do.

My mother gets buyer’s remorse before she buys something for herself – and then puts it back. My dad was the one who pointed this out. She will go shopping and buy for others happily. On occasion, she’ll find something she likes. It might go into the shopping cart. While she wheels around the store, her wheels are turning. Before she goes to the checkout, she puts it back. Its a sight to see. Dad used to – on occasion – go back and get the item and make the purchase himself. Now that I’m somewhere like her in my own ability to shop. I don’t think its actually buyer’s remorse. I think Mom is happy and she recognizes that stuff is just stuff. She recognizes that getting new stuff is a short run satisfaction at best and that in the long run, what really matters cannot be found on a shelf at a department store.

My mother is a saint. During my dad’s darkest times, he was tough to live with. In my own words, his behavior bordered on self-torture from the inside out. That came with health ramifications. Even when my dad wasn’t in and out of the hospital, there was a lot to clean up after. My mom handled it. I honestly don’t know how she did it. I went through a period of darkness in my first marriage and I wasn’t able to see it through. But Mom is tougher than me and that’s why she’s a saint.

My mother isn’t perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I know Mom isn’t perfect. She had and has her foibles just like all the rest of us. But if anything, that’s another reason to put her on the pedestal on this Mother’s Day. She accepts herself for who she is, she contributes with everything that she can, and for that and everything else that I’ve listed, my mother is my hero.

I love you Mom. Happy Mother’s Day.