You Love the Ones You Serve

Mom used to always tell us, "You love the ones you serve."  She was trying to get us to stop fighting, but the lesson she taught me reached far beyond my childhood squabbles with my brothers and sisters.

As a teenager one of my favorite books was "To Kill a Mockingbird", by Harper Lee.  I loved it because it touched my heart and made me cry, but it also taught me to see people for who they really were, not just who I thought they were.  Is I grew up I began to understand that other people also felt and hurt and laughed, were happy, angry or afraid, just like me.  Slowly I began to want to put myself in others shoes and understand them. 

Mom continued to teach me empathy when she assured me that no one at school, church, or wherever I was going would even notice if I had a zit, a bad hair day, or what my clothes looked like, because they were all worrying about how they themselves looked.  It helped me not to obsess about my deficiencies, but it also reminded me that other people had feelings, too.

Mom knew it was easier to understand and be nice to friends and acquaintances than it was to be empathetic with our family, so she encouraged us to serve each other.  She lived the principle, "You love the ones you serve," and taught by example.

I wish I could say that I followed her example, but most of the time I was still pretty selfish and concerned with what I wanted or thought I needed.  But at least once in awhile I tried. 

I loved to watch "The Brady Bunch" on TV.  One episode was about Jan, the middle daughter in the family, feeling left out and unloved.  Someone sent her an anonymous present, and it made her feel better.  The show got me to thinking about my own little sister, Linda.  She was a lot like Jan, blond, the same age, and also a middle child.  Suddenly I wanted to do something special for her, so I went to the dime store and found a little heart shaped locket that I could afford, and that I thought Linda would like.  I bought it, put it in an envelope with Linda's name on the outside, and dropped it in our mailbox. 

You know what?  I was more excited about Linda finding that necklace than I was about opening my own presents at Christmas time.  It just felt so good!  Linda found the locket before too long, and her surprise and happiness were perfect.  It was so much fun to see her face light up, then watch her try to figure out where the locket came from.

"Did you do this?" she asked me with a huge smile. 

"I don't know where it came from," I assured her, trying to look surprised and innocent at the same time.  She asked everyone in the family, two or three times, but no one could help her. 

"Maybe it was Janice,"  I suggested, trying to stop her from thinking it was me.  "Or maybe you have a secret admirer at school who gave it to you."

Linda didn't buy that, although she wore a special smile for the next couple of days, like she was imagining who out of all the people she knew would give her a present.  Years later when we talked about the locket Linda assured me that she knew all along that I gave it to her, but even if she did, it didn't dim my joy.  I think that was the first real time that I experienced the thrill of doing something secretly for someone else, and it wet my appetite. 

"You love the ones you serve," mom taught us.  It's true, but you also make yourself happy at the same time, and it feels really good.