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Ordinary People
By Annemarie Henny, Torrington
Nowadays the constant assault of both the print and electronic news has its effect on the listener or viewer. Bad, if it gets you bewildered and confused. Good, if there's something tangible you can do in a particular situation.
The thinking and reading public who have thoughtfully studied history know this may be a report of the worst of times, but also know it will somehow pass.
I think what many of us fail to "see" and be grateful for are the small kindnesses of everyday life. So, as I think back, I find myself a more hopeful and thankful person as I remember …
There was Mrs. Cohen, the fourth-grade teacher; I told I her was writing mysteries and asked if she would please make corrections for me. This was a time when a New York teacher had a class of 30 children, collected milk money from her students and had sundry extra jobs along with teaching. She readily agreed and took my tattered, scribbled pages home, and the next day I had them back with corrections. Needless to say I didn't get beyond the fourth chapter—but her kindness I remember to this day. Encouragement.
And the neighbor who regularly brought us fresh vegetables from a small garden plot. We were living in an apartment at the time and I had two potted plants. Sharing.
The time my father had cancer surgery in a Long Island hospital directly after his retirement, I had visited and stopped in the hospital coffee shop before going home. I guess I looked confused and bewildered, for the man who ran the counter came over: "You're troubled, lady—anything you want to talk about?" and we talked. A few times he was obliged to take orders from other customers, but he always came back. And the last thing I remember him saying with a wide smile: "Your Daddy's gonna be all right." Empathy.
I had packed up two large boxes of clothing for the Walter Hoving Home, in Garrison, NY, where women who have experienced incredible hardships are ministered to and rehabilitated. My daughter and I took them to the local UPS station. A young man from our church was on duty, and when he asked what was in the boxes and where they were going, he said, "You packed them; I'll pay for them." Generosity.
When we first moved to Torrington, I wasn't familiar with the layout of the town. My husband drove me to a hairdresser on Main Street. I was to call him when finished. I did—no answer. Dialed again and again—no answer. I had the wrong new phone number.
Meanwhile I saw buses across the street pulling in and asked the hairdresser if she knew the schedule for them. No idea. But a woman overheard our conversation and came over. "I'll be glad to give you a lift home," she told me. Once in the car we introduced ourselves. She was from the town of Washington. I directed her up East Main Street, and only then did she ask where I lived. It could have been miles out of her way, but her offer to drive me home had come first. Kindness.
I had just finished my monthly reading sessions with the second graders in Forbes School. Although I read them a variety of stories, the story I read that day was one I had written. A seven-year old with large blue eyes came up to me as I was leaving. She thanked me for the story and then handed me a well-worn pencil: "This is for you, Mrs. Henny, when you write your next story." Appreciation.
Ordinary people, small kindnesses. A bulwark against the sometimes yucky world situation.
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