My parents survived the second world war but just barely. During the war mom was a young lady living in Rhodes Island, Greece and my father was an officer incarcerated in a British concentration camp in Ethiopia. They saw firsthand the effects of selfishness and greed. On several occasions, they almost starved to death. Their survival was only possible due to the generosity of others.
When it came to raising their children, mom and dad made it a priority to identify and praise individuals who were generous. Largesse was celebrated in our household as an immediate and dramatic solution to a practical problem. A large and unexpected act of generosity magically alleviated a difficult circumstance. An act of kindness could be a salve to one’s dilemma.
One time, when we lived in Argentina, my father was inspecting a produce farm and was offered some watermelons. “Sure,“ replied my father while thinking of his sons who happened to love them. It was a warm summer day and the fruit would be appreciated. The farmer then literally filled the box of dad’s truck with watermelons—a benefit to our entire neighbourhood! For years my father praised such uncommon generosity.
My mother would also wax poetic about people who shared whatever they could. Their food, their money, their time —it was the thing to do! Help others whenever possible but try not to draw attention to yourself.
An attitude of giving fostered joy in our home. I and my brother did our best to imitate our parents. We gave away our food in the school playground. We shared our toys with our playmates. We helped around the house and were available to help others when needed.
One time I gave away a leather jacket to a friend who merely wanted to borrow it. It had been an expensive gift from my aunt only a few weeks before. I expected to draw some criticism for my decision but, to my surprise, when my aunt found out about it she said nothing. Later I discovered that she too, as a young woman had given away her coat to a needy person.
It feels wonderful to give. You see instant joy in the eyes of the recipient and you feel great for having helped someone else. People praise you and celebrate your good character. Sometimes they marvel at your audacity for doing the unthinkable. They look at you as an example to follow.
In truth, however, there is a darker side to generosity. Part of the elation one feels when being generous to others has a more to do with meeting an emotional need than it does with helping out. Being generous helped me feel better about myself. As an immigrant to Canada, it helped me secure acceptance and social standing.
At worst, being generous led to a sort of arrogance where I began to see myself as better than those who would not share. My friends accepted my random acts of kindness but were uneasy about the sudden imbalance in our relationship. In my mind I was giving freely but in their mind it looked manipulative and controlling.
It has taken time to see that my generosity was likely more a coping strategy than proof of my maturity. And when I noted that my friends had no intention of reciprocating, it left me in a real bind. What to think of those who were indifferent to my generosity or simply took advantage of me? Whom could I trust as real friends?
In time, my parents grew increasingly bitter. Their generosity over the decades had been repaid with scorn or ridicule. Family members and associates took us for granted. Multiple relationships unravelled because my parents could no longer trust the individuals they had been generous to.
Just the same, within limits, a generous life seems to be the intelligent way to live. Our planet offers more than enough resources if we are willing to share them with one another. A spirit of generosity helps us celebrate our collective good fortune and the wonder that it is to be alive. And there are times when lending another a helping hand is just the right thing to do.
The insanity of those whose goal it is to accumulate and hoard is plain to see.
We all go to our grave in similar fashion.