By: Kirsten Nyakoe
“Merry Christmas!” A chorus of voices shout as I walk in. My eyes widen as I take in the atmosphere of the room. Everyone’s faces are filled with joy, and there’s an entire party set up in my honor.
“Thank you, everyone,” I began. “But what is all this?”
Mrs. Johnson, who lives a few houses down, steps forward. “We wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for us and this community. But we also knew the only way to get you to come somewhere like this was to tell you it had to do with helping someone.” Throughout her explanation, the smile on my face grew bigger. It made sense, after all. “You’re always giving out your money and doing nice things for everyone else, so we wanted to finally do something nice for you.”
I am, I suppose, but the reasoning is so much more than just giving stuff away for the sake of it. Many years ago, I realized that it was surprisingly nice to give with no expectation of anything in return. I learned that sometimes, the gift itself is seeing how happy someone is with what you got them. I know that makes me sound like a certain old man whose only emotion for much of his story is anger, but I assure you, I’m nothing like him.
You see, I’ve lived in this town my whole life. I was an only child, and for a long time, my parents struggled to make ends meet. It was the people of this town that took care of me; that fed me and watched over me and gave me gifts when my parents couldn’t.
When my parents eventually struck it rich, they began giving back to the community that had so helped them in their time of need. As an only child, I inherited my house and the family business when my parents passed about a decade ago. Even before then, however, I was continuing their mission of giving freely to the less fortunate; cars, apartments, condos—you name it, I gave it away.
For me, it was just a given. This was the town I grew up in, and these were the children and grandchildren of the people who raised me. I would never want to see them suffer, and I would never let it happen if I could do something about it. And thankfully, I can. I’m retired now, so I especially have the time, money, and resources to give people what they need in their time of need. It’s what my parents would’ve wanted, and it’s what I want too.
I don’t know if I can ever measure up for them or ever pay back this little town for everything that it’s done for me, but I’m sure going to try—and that’s enough for me.
I brush away some stray tears as Mrs. Johnson moves to give me a hug and hand me a slice of cake. “Thank you,” I tell her. “Thank you, all of you,” I nod to the crowd. “Really, this is much more than I could ever ask for. You don’t owe me anything. I’m just doing what feels right.”
Mr. Johnson, Mrs. Johnson’s husband, laughs. “Perhaps so, but people as fortunate as you rarely feel the same. So let us treat you for once; believe me when I say it’s the least we can do.”
As he steps forward, so does the rest of the crowd, and I’m bombarded with hugs and thank-yous and well wishes. It’s surreal, but not because I’ve never been thanked before. That’s happened plenty of times.
For me, the gift was always seeing people happy and healthy again. But this year, I received the greatest gift of all, the one I was looking for all along—the gift of community.
Photo Credit: Getty Images