A Cuppa’ Compassion

Sharing is Caring

We’re all in this together!

When I was a kid, a huge snowstorm made our patio furniture look like plush white sofas. The snow rose to my knees as I ventured out to take a “cool” seat. Even better, school was canceled, so I got to play outside and then warm up in our cozy suburban home with some hot cocoa.

My mother was busy with housework. At one point, we heard the mailbox open, so I followed her like a puppy to the small mudroom. We were both shocked to see the mailman sitting on the seat we used to put on our shoes. He had taken his gloves off and was blowing on his freezing hands.

He quickly apologized and stood up to leave.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mom asked him as he looked back at us fearfully.

“Come inside, please. You’re obviously freezing and need to warm up with a hot beverage!”

He looked stunned and tried to leave, nevertheless. But my mother wasn’t having it, as she asked me to plug in the whistling kettle.

This was many decades ago when times were more innocent. My mother was also raised in a small town where neighbors helped neighbors. And everyone was treated like a neighbor.

Hospitality came naturally to my mom as she sat him in our family room and lit the fireplace. He agreed to let her put his hat, scarf, mitts, and socks in the dryer as she brought him a bucket of hot water to warm his frozen feet.

When he finally went with the flow and helped himself to some hot tea with biscuits, she asked him about himself. He had tears in his eyes. Looking back on it, I think it was both from the thawing and the compassion he was experiencing. I’ll never forget that.

***

A couple of years later, on a Saturday, the piano tuner was working away when I realized I had a ton of questions. I proceeded to ask him. Mom reprimanded me by saying, “You’re interrupting Mr. Oliver, Shirley. He needs to listen to what he’s doing and concentrate. You can ask him questions when we have tea together after he’s finished if he’s willing.”

Mr. Oliver hadn’t tuned our piano before, so he didn’t realize that my mother always offered people who came to fix anything in our house tea. Most were more than happy to take a little break, as was Mr. Oliver.

“Okay, Shirley,” my mother guided me, “You can ask your questions now, but please don’t overwhelm Mr. Oliver.” She instructed me, knowing what a curious soul I was, as she passed cookies around and poured hot tea.

“How do you know what to do?” I started.

“Well, I studied for many years.” Said Mr. Oliver with a grin.

“Where?” I asked.

“I’m actually legally blind. He took a bite of a chocolate-covered digestive biscuit and continued, “Back in the day, if your vision was even moderately impaired, you were sent to an all-blind school, taught braille and a trade. I chose piano tuning as my trade.”

I was even more fascinated now and spent the next fifteen minutes asking detailed questions. My mother checked in with the piano tuner to see if he needed a break from my relentless queries. He chuckled and shook his head.

When he left, I felt satisfied that I learned all I needed to. Asking people directly was, and still is, my favorite form of study.

What’s more, my mother had her own chuckle when she noticed a 20% discount on the bill. She said, “I think that’s because you showed such genuine interest, Shirley, and you made his day!”

Thank you for reading my story.

Please see these inspirational stories from Leonard Tillerman, Oscar Rhea, and Britt H.:

For more, please see my book: amzn.to/3s01fDv

Thank you to Mark Suroviec, M.Ed. at Playtown: A family-friendly publication. Do you enjoy good clean fun and games?