Everyday, in many ways, I am reminded of the kindness of others. While there are so many jerks in the world, and worse, the goodness of people is confirmed to me on a daily basis.
Recently, a friend who had emigrated to the United States of America, received his American citizenship.
He is the antithesis of those in this country who feel an entitlement and expect things to be given to them because “they want what’s coming to them…” what they think they deserve for simply being born here.
He owns his own retail store, treats customers with more-than-kindness—in reality, his is the epitome of customer service!—and he constantly extols the virtues of living in the U.S. and of being an American.
After he passed his test, and while he was waiting for the ceremony in which he would be sworn in, I began trying to think of something I could get him as a small gift to celebrate this most-cherished accomplishment.
The first thing that came to mind was to get him an American Flag lapel pin. You know, like the kind the president refuses to wear. I realize it’s not much, but I wanted to give him something.
World Wide Web
I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but I have this thing called The Internet. I began using it to try and find a pin. Unfortunately, the only way you can get one on this Internet is to order them in batches of 100. Perhaps, under other circumstances, I could have ordered 100 and, in the future, handed them out to anyone who wanted one. But, at that time, I still hadn’t found any gainful opportunities for work.
At Starbucks one morning, I noticed the apron of the woman helping me. Displayed upon her apron was a pin displaying crossed American and USMC flags. (Mr. Obama, in case you’re reading my blog again, Corps is pronounced “core,” not “corpse.”)
I commented on her pin and she told me that her son is a third-generation Marine. First, I thanked for his (and her) sacrifice to America and for their efforts resulting in my own personal freedoms. Then I told her about trying to find a flag pin for my friend. She had a great idea! She told me she was sure I could find one at one of the corner pharmacies like Walgreen’s or CVS. Great idea!
Also, there happened to be one across that same parking lot!
With coffee in hand, I drove over to that store to find it still closed at that early hour. But across the valley that afternoon, I found another.
Hunting in a Foreign Land
I entered and cruised the aisles. There was no area that seemed to be a “place” or section where I could find a pin like this. But, no worries! I approached one of the employees at the front.
“Excuse me,” I said to her. “Do you have any Flag Pins?”
“A payng?” She blinked at me.
“A pin.”
“Peeeeen…” she stared blankly.
“A pin.” I repeated, “A flag pin.”
“Pan?” she inquired. “Oh, brayt?”
“Not bread! PIN. A pin to WEAR. An American Flag! A PIN to wear of an American Flaaaaaag!!”
“Lay-moan playj?”
Now available in Paperback and for Kindle!
On the way home that afternoon, I tried a WalMart store with much the same results.
Over the following weeks, I looked for a flag pin in any store I was in.
Nothing.
As July 4th approached, I thought I might have better luck, but I did not. There were full-size flags and flags for your home and tablecloths and napkins and paper plates and streamers and t-shirts and shorts and shoe laces and sunglasses and wiggly things attached to a headband and small incendiary devices. But no lapel pin.
Proud to be an American
Karim’s ceremony came and went, and he is a now proud American. And having been born in the Middle East he has a unique and personal perspective on World Politics.
I had not had the opportunity to see him since his ceremony, but was trying to figure out a way to stop by his store and give a hug.
One day this week, I stopped by my Starbucks for my morning infusion. Before I could open my mouth to order, Susan reached across the counter, holding a small, unseen object in her fingers. I reached to her and into my palm she dropped a shiny American Flag pin. “For your friend,” she said with a smile.
Through a lump in my throat, I explained that I had been unsuccessful in finding this small token and that I would make sure I would make my way across the desert that day to complete this thoughtful bequest.
When I arrived at his store that afternoon, I grabbed a cigar and joined the group of guys already discussing politics, global economics, hip-surgery and generally doing their best to keep the world spinning. During a break in their conversation, I began to explain to Karim that I had been trying to find a gift, some small token to give him in honor of his citizenship.
Now available in Paperback and for Kindle!
True to his personality, he interrupted me saying, “No-no, my friend! You need to give me nothing! Your friendship is what I want!”
And, true to my personality, I countered with, “Shut up, you bonehead, and let me finish!” Then, above his constant assertions that I needn’t get him anything, I told of my search for the pin and of Susan’s gift that very morning.
In front of the other guys, I handed him the pin. Karim was silent for nearly four seconds and then grabbed me in a bear hug saying, “Thank you, my brother! And please thank your friend for me!”
An American
He immediately secured the pin to his shirt, making sure, he said, that it was over his heart. I took his picture and promised him I would show it to Susan.
The next morning she was at work and I immediately displayed Karim’s picture on my cell. “Here he is!”
Susan said, “Oh, how nice.”
As she got my coffee and scone, I chatted with her about my friend, of giving him her gift, and about how happy I was for him. I said, “Didn’t you have a pin with crossed flags?”
“Yes,” she said, “That’s for my son, who is a third-generation Marine.”
“
Yeah,” I said, “I remember that…” my voice trailed as my eyes came to rest on another pin she wore today. It was a Gold Star pin.
She saw my gaze and said, “That’s for my brother.”
Trying to keep my composure, I told her I was sorry and was grateful for their sacrifice.
She thanked me and reminded me, again, to tell “my friend” how happy she was for him.
Blessed
Yes, there are indeed days when you get to feel the touch of human kindness, the touch of God. Here I was, just a messenger between two Americans who will probably never meet. Yet I felt like I received the greatest gift of all three of us. This interaction, in which I was nothing more than a middleman, was replete with kindness, honor, gratitude, joy and more that is beyond my feeble ability to articulate.
This was an exchange between an American who had experienced the loss of a loved-one who sacrificed all upon the Altar of Freedom and an American who truly appreciates all this country has to offer.
And I got to be immersed in all of it. I think this is what it feels like to be blessed.
