Joe slides the folded note along the glossy surface of the table, nudging my tiny hand with its sharp corner. I press the red crayon into my picture harder, I know what the letter says already. He asks me the same thing every day, and every day I give the same answer. Why won't he leave me be?<br>
When my dad picks me up from daycare, we have the same conversation as always. What did I learn? What was my favorite part of the day? I shove past all of this to profess my undying hatred for Joe- he's just so WEIRD! I go on and on, as my father nods his head along.<br>
He smiles warmly and asks a question that's stuck with me forever. "What are three things you like about Joe?" I'm taken aback, hasn't he been listening?! I hate Joe! I struggle to list the first thing: he's good at coloring. The second comes easier, and the third brings a lesson. We should give others consideration, people are complex.<br>
<center><img src="https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/grindan/23tmHdi77hVs1vfrhouVkSmTMKECnvH9L9Xppr5GPtFAXxJVudnyArQynJzg9NwY2SaUX.jpg" alt="girl-g41146b4e4_640.jpg"></center><center><sup>Photo by <a href="https://pixabay.com/photos/girl-little-girl-child-schoolboy-774648/">RaphaelJeanneret</a> on Pixabay</sup></center>
So, I went into daycare the next day as a new 4-year-old. I grabbed my best sesame street stationary, and I wrote Joe a note. I expressed that I'd like him to stop asking me out every day, and that if he did, we could color together. I shook off my disdain for his Y's that looked like forks, and I was kind to him. My dad told me some kids are lonely, I didn't want him to feel lonely!<br>
<center><h3><i>Wouldn't you know it- just like magic it worked!</i></h3></center>
If by "it" you mean nothing. Not a thing changed. We could mull over the reasons why some people take "no" to mean try again, elaborate on the frustrations of that... but it isn't the point of this post. Similarly, neither is a touchy-feely tale of settling differences by talking it out.<br>
No, I'd like to talk about personal power. The weapons we carry without being aware of them. The bounty we own blindly, how we can help others by giving away a free resource: kindness.<br>
Years after the last time I ever saw Joe, who I eventually decided to be friendly but firm with, I received another letter that will always stick with me. Sadly, I don't actually know who it is from. This breaks my heart, and you'll understand why when I describe the contents.<br>
https://i.imgur.com/6Wk2CJE.png<br>
There are four pages written on the most adorable stationary I've ever seen, that I cherish even though I cannot for the life of me remember their author. They didn't deserve to be forgotten by me, and it is one of my greatest sources of guilt- I think this person <i>really</i> needed a friend.<br>
I was seventeen when I left a government run program called Job Corps. This wasn't a place that economically secure youngsters went, it was often the last resort for its residents. I found myself living in the dorms of one of their many campuses to avoid jail time. Three months in county, or complete this program. You got paid to finish, and could go outside, so I chose that.<br>
During the year I spent there, I met a TON of people. It was tradition that on your last day, you gave away belongings that you wouldn't need anymore. In return, people wrote you letters to take home in remembrance. This letter must have snuck its way into my stack without acknowledgment.<br>
I didn't really <i>want to</i> reminisce on my time there for quite a while, as you might imagine. I was finally free! I could go home, see my friends, enjoy my life. I had the phone numbers of everyone I was close to, and so the letters sat undisturbed for many months.<br>
<center><img src="https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/grindan/EonoQ2ZiRNjvL84tEtUQekxGnMYdokSWD1SGentxgy2vHLyEqjF1Bh6qDmh9mYDCcMQ.jpg" alt="letter.jpg"></center>
Here is a photograph I just took of the first two pages. I am NOT sentimental; I do not keep cards or letters usually. I have a small stack of correspondence that I just couldn't throw away though, and her letter is among it. I tried to figure out who she was, to find her and reach out... I failed.<br>
The letter isn't signed, but it begins: "My dearest Amy" an opener that yanks my heart painfully. She talks about how nice I was to her, and how she will <i>always</i> remember that. She tells me that I cheered her up when she felt worthless. She says that she thinks of me as a sister.<br>
<center><b>I didn't know! I swear I didn't know 😭!</b></center>
While I was just living my life, trying to honor the lessons that people like Joe had imparted, I did something really good. I didn't even know that I had. It wasn't until months later that I found out, the way I treated this young woman meant a lot to her. All I did was offer kindness.<br>
The things we do every day can have an effect that we are unable to see for quite some time.<br>
I didn't know I was that powerful. Now I do, and I want to mention that the same power is within you. Give someone that extra dose of consideration, take the extra second to give a compliment. Let someone know that you see them. Be human, it could be the life preserver they desperately need.<br>
https://i.imgur.com/6Wk2CJE.png<br>
<center>These are the memories that came to mind, and inspired me to dig out an old letter, because of the Ink Well's weekly <a href="https://peakd.com/hive-170798/@theinkwell/creative-nonfiction-in-the-ink-well-prompt-5">non-fiction</a> prompt! I hope they have made you want to go out and love some people 😁</center>
<center><img src="https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/grindan/23tviiqsxYxS6ybeNENY2U9UqsJ7cGFXu7oSUMvDdiy41YZWKSiT5mvnpYdXPKT7odq43.png" alt="footer.png"></center>