ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1997, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, February 10, 1997 TAG: 9702100100
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-5 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: MONTY S. LEITCH
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
IN THE summer of 1977, I was privileged to spend a month in Washington, D.C., at taxpayers' expense, learning how to be a better writer. At the time, one of my cousins was also in D.C., employed for the summer as an au pair. I met many famous people during my month in the capital, but the summer's highlight, for me, was an afternoon at the zoo spent with my cousin and his young charges.
My cousin had the care of a brother and sister, each a child with huge dark eyes and glossy black hair. They were as sweet-natured as they were beautiful, too, at least for that afternoon, and, clearly, they adored my cousin.
They were also polite to me, the stranger in their midst. A characteristic I noticed particularly, because acts of politeness come especially hard to the very young; they haven't yet learned the dissembling skills that so many acts of politeness require.
But it was a tiny act of overwhelming kindness that most impressed me at the zoo. A small, heroic gesture for which I hope I will someday be able to repay the universe.
It was late in our afternoon, and we were getting more than a little hot and tired. Not testy, yet, but all the conditions were right. Also, the tiger had just put on a terrifying show for us, leaping into his moat with a magnificent splash and then roaring hugely - and, if you've never heard a tiger roar right next to your ear, then you can't even begin to imagine the hugeness that I mean. In our impending exhaustion, we were more than a little impressed.
It was time to go home, and we knew it, but we didn't quite want to; our lethargy was about to stretch into whining. And would have, too, had not my cousin made the firm decision: "Time to go." The children made the requisite protest, but then started off compliantly. And as they did so, the little boy - the younger of the children - put his hand in my cousin's. A tender request for reassurance and affection.
I must admit, I watched this gesture enviously: the trust between them that it demonstrated, the sweet regard, the genuine companionship. Nevertheless, I had no choice but to keep on alone; they were not my children, not my friends, and I knew it. I continued chatting with the older sister in that way that adults have of filling space when they're with children, but I did so with some sadness.
Then, a silence fell between us, and the most extraordinary thing happened: The little girl slipped her hand in mind. Surprised, delighted, I looked down at her, and saw in her clear face that this had been her most deliberate choice; that she had seen my misty longing, and had reached out to touch it.
The acts of heroism that we reward are usually monumental: lives saved, rescues effected. Such acts are, of course, deserving. But it seems to me it took no less courage, and a good deal more compassion, for that little girl to reach across the gulfs of age and unfamiliarity to take my hand in love. And it was in love that she reached out; she acted with that absolute, unselfish love of one human for another that the Greeks named agape.
Several years ago, I received a Christmas card from a stranger. Each year, this stranger wrote me in her card, she sends Christmas greetings to someone who's not expecting them from her. She likes to think of their surprise, their delight to hear from a stranger.
I was, indeed, surprised. And deeply touched. I wrote to thank her, and have received a card from her every year since.
A few years ago, a little book advised the practice of "Random Kindness & Senseless Acts of Beauty." Certainly, kindness is important. As is beauty. But such acts also strike me as, more importantly, deeply heroic; for what takes more courage than an attempt to cross the abyss that yawns between one human and another? What takes more courage than the offer of your hand?
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times columnist.
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