Kindness is more than just being nice

In a previous post, I wrote about an experience in which “We relied on the kindness of strangers.” Our then-young family had a major automotive breakdown a long way from home, and several kind strangers stepped in to help. Here are some more thoughts on and examples of kindness.

There are people who are intrinsically kind. Being kind seems to be their basic disposition. I’ve been blessed to encounter such people. I guess it could be said they are kind to me because they are kind to everyone. Yet when receiving their kindness, I feel special. And there are random acts of kindness. Anyone can “commit” such acts (and we all would do well to do so more often). Some acts may seem small in the greater scheme of things, but when offered they are significant to the recipient.

I think there is a difference between being nice and being kind. Being nice is, needless to say, commendable. Yet it may be that when we are nice, we are externally motivated, at least to some extent, while the motivation to be kind is completely internal.

When I think of kind people, my grandmother, Mama D, and my Aunt Edith, her eldest daughter, come immediately to mind. They were genuinely kind. I enjoyed being around other relatives, of course, but with them, there was a connection on a more personal level. And through that connection, they helped me feel valued.

There was a professor in my theological school, Dr. John Scammon. Before I’d met him, an upperclassman said the way to recognize him was to “look for someone who looks like an angel.” His kind spirit was evident in his appearance. He was a scholar, as is to be expected, but also a warm individual — with a great sense of humor. He seemingly never had anything bad to say about anyone or anything.

Another faculty member, perhaps his best friend, once said to him, “John, I think even if you ended up in Hell, you’d find something good to say.” After a moment’s pause, Dr. Scammon smiled and replied, “Yes, I’d say, Mr. Devil, you certainly have a good heating system.”

A small random act of kindness I once experienced occurred years ago when I was getting a Subway sandwich. After making my sandwich, the manager reached for a chocolate-chip cookie as he was ringing up the order. “I didn’t order a cookie,” I protested. “I know. I want to give it to you.” That’s all he said. No pressure to buy something else. It wasn’t a big deal, but it made me feel good and has stuck in my memory.

A (seemingly) more significant kind act was offered when I was in college and was driving with a friend to his home in Georgia for Thanksgiving. Somewhere in South Carolina, I had a flat tire, with no useable spare and limited funds. We coasted into a truck stop. The tire couldn’t be repaired.

A man working there told us that if we’d wait till his shift was over, he’d replace it with a used-but-usable tire he had in the trunk of his car. He’d give it to me, and because he would be off the clock, there would be no labor charge.

We were college students from Chapel Hill, NC. He was someone that might qualify as a “red neck.” It was a kindness I hope I have offered from time to time since.

Yeah, another time I was bailed out of a car situation by a kind person. Yet kindness often makes a pleasant-enough situation even more pleasant. Better still when the kindness is mutual.

On my birthday a few years ago, my wife and I went to a then-new Chapel Hill restaurant for dinner. (It was excellent.) With the bistro-style seating, you are practically sitting with the people on either side.  The couple already seated to my left were about half our age and adorned with colorful tattoos.

As we ate, they talked quietly to each other, as we did.  I noticed that each of the four of us had ordered a different meal.  The young man was next to me, and I thought about asking what he had ordered. Eventually, he turned to me and said, “Excuse me, sir.  Do you mind if I ask what you ordered?”  I said I didn’t mind at all, because I wanted to ask him the same thing. 

Each of the four of us described our meals, then chatted a little while longer.  They lived in Burlington, about 25 miles from Chapel Hill.  He owned at least one tattoo parlor.  He said the only thing they spent money on was fine dining. We talked about restaurants in Chapel Hill and in Asheville, which he sometimes visited on business.  I suggested a few places they hadn’t tried in both.

The conversation flowed smoothly. At one point, he told me about a friend who has a TV show, introducing the topic by saying, non-judgmentally, “I don’t know if you watch reality shows about tattoo parlors.”  I answered, non-judgmentally, “No, I don’t.”  Then I listened to what he said about it.

After they left, our server came over and said they’d paid a big portion of our bill. That told me how much they’d appreciated our interaction.

The experience did not change my attitude about tattoos (a hard NO).  But it also did not change (in fact reinforced) my belief that a person is first and foremost a person and my belief in the value of kindness.