The Gift of Giving

Years ago as a crime reporter, I got a tip from some concerned citizens that a 12-year-old boy was found dead, hanging by a rope inside a shanty in one of the poorest parts of Manila.

Body still there, wanna see?

So off we went.

When our news team arrived in the slum area, hysteria had already spread among the residents– and these were thousands of fevered bodies dwelling side-by-side in tiny makeshift houses.

A group of dwellers was dragging a wild-eyed man whose half-naked body was covered with soot. The residents were arresting the wild-eyed man whom they accused of killing the boy.

Following closely behind, another group of dwellers was carrying a scrawny-looking boy who was weeping quietly.

Then there was the mother of the dead boy. Her eyes were so glassy, as if too stunned to shed a tear. And when talked to, could only mumble a few incoherent words.

Hours later at the Police Headquarters, I sat beside the grief-stricken mother at the waiting area. She still shuddered when she spoke but could at least express herself more clearly.

Initial reports from the authorities pointed to the wild-eyed man as the culprit. But what shocked everyone was the confession of the scrawny-looking boy who was the cousin of the dead boy. They were both the same age and were playmates. One day they fought over some toys or a few Peso bills or something… The scrawny-looking boy got so mad he decided to teach his cousin a lesson by letting loose inside their makeshift house the wild-eyed Lone Ranger. Two against one, the dead boy did not have a fighting chance.

The scrawny-looking boy sat limply at the waiting area, too exhausted to mind the angry stares he was getting from people around him.

There was a small cell beside the waiting area and the wild-eyed man sat inside, fidgeting.

As in any criminal investigation, the procedures were taking very long.

I reckoned the grieving mother hadn’t eaten since early morning and it was already past 2 in the afternoon. Although it was highly discouraged of journalists, I asked our crew to buy her a hamburger from the nearby fast food restaurant. She looked so gaunt, so famished, like she could collapse at any moment. I thought she needed some nourishment for the many ordeals awaiting her in the coming hours.

I handed the grieving mother beside me the sandwich.

Thank you, she whispered, managing a small smile. Then she sprang up, walked across the room, and handed the hamburger to the boy who set up his son to be killed. She patted the boy’s head. Eat, you need that. The scrawny-looking boy instantly woke up from his stupor and ravaged the sandwich in seconds.

I drew a sharp breath, baffled at what I had seen.

My mind was having a hard time making sense of the grieving mother’s gesture. She had done it without even thinking, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

To me it was irrational, absurd, crazy! How dare she, whose whole world had been shattered by reckless atrocity, still have the nerve to put someone else’s needs before her own?

She didn’t really have much in the first place. But with her son’s brutal death, what little joy she had left was also taken away from her.

I gazed at the grieving mother who now sat again beside me. Her eyes were downcast, avoiding contact with anyone. It was only then that the tears allowed themselves to fall. But instead of wiping her tears, she kept on wringing the faded handkerchief in her hands.

I knew she had not a single centavo with her. It is common among slum dwellers to have nothing, save for the clothes on their backs. In their hand-to-mouth existence, even the most basic necessities like food are always too scarce.

I couldn’t help but wonder.

I thought, this woman already has nothing. Yet she was able to summon the will to give.

She had nothing, yet she still gave.

 

In moments of weakness when overwhelmed by the compulsion to hoard, I would reflect on the mother’s innate generosity.

Isn’t it easy to give when we have so much of it? Clothes don’t fit my closet anymore so it’s more practical to donate than to have another one built.

But giving that… which would…you know… hurt a little. When it is inconvenient and uncomfortable. It could be our precious time, our undivided attention and compassion or even the simplest act of showing we still care. ♥

I realize our children, especially during the Holidays, are taught the tradition of making a fun fun! list of The Stuff I Want to Receive. Maybe alongside this list should be another equally fun fun! list of The Stuff I Want to Give!

We pray, and pray awfully hard too ( I know I do), for the gifts of life, love and prosperity. ♦

Yet how often do we pray for the gift of generosity?

My late dad’s favorite prayer was the Prayer for Generosity by Saint Ignatius de Loyola.

Teach me to be generous, Lord, teach me to serve You as I should… To give and not count the cost…

To this day, I say this prayer before I enter the classroom to teach, before doing an interview or when meeting someone new so I may give 100% of my Self and nothing short of that.

Teach me to be generous, Lord…

 

Teach me to give wholeheartedly, completely and with no regrets.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!

♥ 

Cheers!