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Letters to Sam:
Excerpts
Inner Wisdom
Lap Time
Dear Sam,
Looking back, I know I loved you from the moment of your birth. But for some reason it took about six months for my love to develop. Early on, I loved my grandson. After six months, I loved you. And I think something similar happened with you.
It's easy to understand how I took to you. You’re my grandson! You’re the child of my daughter! But why did you take to me?
I lived three hours away from you and your parents. I certainly wasn’t available for bonding. And you didn’t understand the concept of “grandfather” when you were just a toddler. So initially, you kept your distance from me. But now that I think about it, everything changed at my father's funeral.
You were just six months old when he died, but we took you to the funeral. As I sat there crying quietly, all you wanted to do was sit on my lap. It was as though you sensed my pain and wanted to be with me. And since that time, whenever we are together, all you want to do is climb up on my lap.
Long after my father's funeral you still wanted to be close to me. At first, I thought you were intrigued by the wheelchair. And although that might be true, I don't think that's the whole story. I believe at a certain level you know we are kindred spirits. You are beginning to understand that I can't do what others do. In time you will understand how different I am from everyone else. Part of my job with you, Sam, is to teach you how to tolerate your different-ness from other people and – despite the differences – how to navigate your own waters.
As you get older, Sam, I will have more to say about how I’ve learned to cope with people staring at me or treating me differently. We can talk about fear, injustice, God, and the tiny little gifts that sometimes live inside of adversity.
But I believe there’s another part of my job with you. I also have to help you never, ever forget what you knew at the age of six months. You knew what the angels looked like, and on the day of my father's funeral, you acted like one.
Love,
Pop
Give Kindness a Chance
Dear Sam,
Your vulnerability, Sam, along with your radiant smile, will likely bring out people who want to be good, who want to help, who feel generous.
In the animal kingdom, vulnerability can bring out aggression in other animals. This sometimes happens with humans also. But I have found that, instead, my vulnerability brings out the best in people. And I have discovered that when people are kind and helpful, it makes them happy. Sometimes, I almost feel guilty about this, because people who appear to be "normal" and independent don't get to see this soft side of others.
What about you, Sam? I wonder whether you will be able to expose the soft side of yourself. Often, we try every way possible to avoid showing our vulnerability. Which can involve a lot of pretending. But only when you stop pretending you’re brave or strong, you allow people to show the kindness that’s in them.
Let me tell you a story.
Last month, on a very windy day, I was returning from a lecture I had given to a group in Fort Washington. I was beginning to feel unwell. I was feeling increasing spasms in my legs and back and became anxious as I anticipated a difficult ride back to my office. Making matters worse, I knew I had to travel two of the most treacherous high-speed roads near Philadelphia – the four-lane Schuylkill Expressway and the six-lane Blue Route.
You’ve been in my van, so you know how it’s been outfitted with everything I need to drive. But you probably don’t realize that I often drive more slowly than other people. That’s because I have difficulty with body control. I’m especially careful on windy days when the van can be buffeted by sudden gusts. And if I’m having problems with spasms or high blood pressure, I stay way over in the right hand lane and drive well below the speed limit.
When I’m driving slowly, people behind me tend to get impatient. They speed up to my car, blow their horns, drive by, stare at me angrily, and show me how long their fingers can get. (I don't understand why some people are so proud of the length of their fingers, but there are many things I don't understand.) Those angry drivers add stress to what already is a stressful experience of driving.
On this particular day, I was driving by myself. At first, I drove slowly along back roads. Whenever someone approached, I pulled over and let them pass. But as I neared the Blue Route, I became more frightened. I knew I would be hearing a lot of horns and seeing a lot of those long fingers.
And then I did something I had never done in the twenty-four years that I have been driving my van. I decided to put on my flashers. I drove the Blue Route and the Schuylkyll Expressway at 35 miles per hour.
Now…Guess what happened?
Nothing! No horns and no fingers.
But why?
When I put on my flashers, I was saying to the other drivers, “I have a problem here – I am vulnerable and doing the best I can.” And everyone understood. Several times, in my rearview mirror I saw drivers who wanted to pass. They couldn’t get around me because of the stream of passing traffic. But instead of honking or tailgating, they waited for the other cars to pass, knowing the driver in front of them was in some way weak.
Sam, there is something about vulnerability that elicits compassion. It is in our hard wiring. I see it every day when people help me by holding doors, pouring cream in my coffee, or assist me when I put on my coat. Sometimes I feel sad because from my wheelchair perspective, I see the best in people. But those who appear strong and invulnerably typically are not exposed to the kindness I see daily.
Sometimes situations call for us to act strong and brave even when we don't feel that way. But those are a few and far between. More often, there is a better pay-off if you don't pretend you feel strong when you feel weak, or pretend that you are brave when you’re scared. I really believe the world might be a safer place if everyone who felt vulnerable wore flashers that said, “I have a problem and I’m doing the best I can. Please be patient!”
Love,
Pop
