kindness to a kid
When I was a kid, our family frequently traveled to northern Indiana to spend weekends and vacations on one of the hundreds of lakes in that region. Dad’s favorite was Dewart Lake near North Webster, and it was a typical five-hundred-acre body of water surrounded by quaint cottages and boat docks. For several years, our family rented a cozy little cabin right next to the lake in a small complex that sported a beach, playground equipment, a small restaurant, a bait shop, and a long pier just off the beach.
We always rented a fishing boat and spent many hours on the lake trying to lure bluegills and crappies onto our hook. Mom was usually the most successful since she possessed more patience than dad or me. That evening the wonderful smell of fish frying in an iron skillet wafted through the air. I loved panfish's delicate, mild white meat, and my mother knew how to crisp it up perfectly.
One evening I meandered out to the end of the pier with my fishing pole and Styrofoam container filled with juicy nightcrawlers. I was confident I would bring home dinner for the family. As I prepared my line to drop into the water, the inevitable happened. According to Murphy’s Law of little boys fishing, I somehow hopelessly tangled my line. I became increasingly frustrated and angry as I tried to repair the knotted mess. I was frantically pulling and tugging, making the situation even worse.
Unbeknownst to me, a large older man was standing on the other end of the pier, watching the process unfold. A few minutes later, I looked around to see his gentle manly face looking down at me with compassion. “Catching any fish?” he inquired. Now nearly in tears, I held up my mess for him to see. He then asked if I would like some help. I nodded affirmatively, so he sat down beside me, both of our legs hanging over the side of the pier, nearly touching the water.
It took about five minutes or so, but he patiently and artfully turned my frustrating mess into a line ready to bait and throw in the water. He smiled as he handed it back to me and said, “There, how’s that?” I was elated, and I thanked him as he rose and walked off the pier, never to be seen by me again.
That incident was nearly sixty years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I can smell the lake water and the worms and still hear ski boats zooming past, causing waves that shook the pier. My fishing savior, I picture that kind man walking off the dock.
One act of kindness and a prophecy about little Donnie’s life. Little did I know that I would spend most of my life helping others untangle their lives. We all get our lines tangled sometimes, don’t we? And it is so nice when someone cares enough to notice and offers a helping hand or an encouraging word.
Sometimes seemingly insignificant gestures grow into life-changing deeds. I am sure you can recall similar blessings in your life. Tiny events that mold us into the people we are becoming.
Rarely a day passes that each of us does not have ample opportunities to bestow little gifts of love, often to perfect strangers. All you need are eyes to see and ears to hear combined with a willing spirit. Who knows, some little kid may recall your kindness sixty years later.
Live Inspired!
Don Mark
