The last Thurs of every April, including this one in 2010, is Pay It Forward Day. The idea is that one person does a random nice thing for a stranger around noon EST on that day. The person tells the stranger: "Pay it forward," which means the stranger does something nice for somebody else. Pretty soon the planet is swarming with a bunch of really nice people.
I knew PIF Day was coming. But I forgot.
Meanwhile: Susan and I were driving up one street and down the other looking for a parking space near Jazz Fest on PIF day at noon. Up one street. Down the other. Up and down. Up and down. No parking spaces anywhere.
Suddenly, a man and his little boy appear in my peripheral vision outside my passenger window. "We're leaving this parking space here if you want it. Circle around the block. We won't move out of the spot til we see you wait."
I felt sure he was going to hold out his hand for money once we got around the block. But he just waved. We pulled in. Susan and I were euphoric. "I love it when stuff like that happens Don't you just love human beings?" We were both screaming.
So we get out of the car, and I have to go the bathroom before we head to the fest. We're in a poor part of town. JF is 15 minutes away. I spy this tiny medical clinic with, like, herpes information on the outside. I walk into this little space with my jazz fest dress and my bling all over, feeling richy-rich and entitled: It's Thursday, midweek, and these poor people can't go to the rich people's jazz fest.
"I'm sorry," I say sheepishly. "But is there any way I can use your restroom?" They wave me back. I go to the bathroom, then skulk back to the front to leave. Except one of the women motions me over. I thought, uh-oh, she's going to ask for money. Instead, "I love your ankle bracelet," she says. "Where'd you get it? Did it cost much?" I tell her I got it at Jazz Fest and that it didn't cost much at at all. Now this ankle bracelet is very special to me. I wear it to Afrian drumming gigs. I wore it to drumming when Brian, my friend and drum teacher who died six months ago was alive. And I wear it to my beloved JF. It has little bells on it and jingles when I walk. It's very bling-y. It's very meaningful.
I leaned down and took off the ankle bracelet and said, "Here. You have it." She was dumbfounded. Her mouth fell open. "No..., I can't." "Nope," I said. "You have it." I turned away, feeling like I was the one who was gifted. I walked outside and that's when I realized it was the hour of Pay It Forward. A whole bunch of us participated right there on that little half block in New Orleans, and we didn't even know it. That's the best kind of kindness of all.
I knew PIF Day was coming. But I forgot.
Meanwhile: Susan and I were driving up one street and down the other looking for a parking space near Jazz Fest on PIF day at noon. Up one street. Down the other. Up and down. Up and down. No parking spaces anywhere.
Suddenly, a man and his little boy appear in my peripheral vision outside my passenger window. "We're leaving this parking space here if you want it. Circle around the block. We won't move out of the spot til we see you wait."
I felt sure he was going to hold out his hand for money once we got around the block. But he just waved. We pulled in. Susan and I were euphoric. "I love it when stuff like that happens Don't you just love human beings?" We were both screaming.
So we get out of the car, and I have to go the bathroom before we head to the fest. We're in a poor part of town. JF is 15 minutes away. I spy this tiny medical clinic with, like, herpes information on the outside. I walk into this little space with my jazz fest dress and my bling all over, feeling richy-rich and entitled: It's Thursday, midweek, and these poor people can't go to the rich people's jazz fest.
"I'm sorry," I say sheepishly. "But is there any way I can use your restroom?" They wave me back. I go to the bathroom, then skulk back to the front to leave. Except one of the women motions me over. I thought, uh-oh, she's going to ask for money. Instead, "I love your ankle bracelet," she says. "Where'd you get it? Did it cost much?" I tell her I got it at Jazz Fest and that it didn't cost much at at all. Now this ankle bracelet is very special to me. I wear it to Afrian drumming gigs. I wore it to drumming when Brian, my friend and drum teacher who died six months ago was alive. And I wear it to my beloved JF. It has little bells on it and jingles when I walk. It's very bling-y. It's very meaningful.
I leaned down and took off the ankle bracelet and said, "Here. You have it." She was dumbfounded. Her mouth fell open. "No..., I can't." "Nope," I said. "You have it." I turned away, feeling like I was the one who was gifted. I walked outside and that's when I realized it was the hour of Pay It Forward. A whole bunch of us participated right there on that little half block in New Orleans, and we didn't even know it. That's the best kind of kindness of all.
