Gifts

I often volunteer at various walks and runs that raise money for certain causes that I feel strongly about, like the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, which is put on annually to raise money for breast cancer research. These runs are often emotional even if you don’t know anyone who has the ailment that you’re running for. While among the thousands of survivors, loved ones of those who have been lost to breast cancer and people who just want to help like myself it is easy to become overwhelmed by the bittersweet mix of feelings. You are sad for those who have lost their lives but at the same time overjoyed at the amount of support coming from the thousands of people all joined together for one purpose.

I have done many of these types of benefits but the one that affects me the most is the SIDS walk/run that I volunteered at. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) is one of the leading causes of death among infants one month through one year of age in the United States. The sudden, unexpected death of an infant to SIDS is such a heartbreaking loss. Death happens suddenly, leaving the family no time to prepare, not that you could ever be prepared to lose a child.

It’s almost haunting as I remember walking by the hundreds of pictures of these tiny little people, all who had been stolen by this mysterious cause of death. SIDS can not be predicted or prevented but here are ways to lessen your child’s risk of SIDS.

• Have your baby sleep on their back for the first year. Letting a baby sleep on their stomach gives them a much higher risk of SIDS.
• Place baby on a firm mattress with no pillows or fluffy blankets. Suffocation caused by these things has been associated with a higher SIDS rate.
• Do not smoke, drink, or use drugs while pregnant and do not expose your baby to secondhand smoke. According to the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development’s figures indicate that children of mothers who smoked during pregnancy are three times more likely to die of SIDS than those whose mothers were smoke-free; exposure to secondhand smoke doubles a baby’s risk of SIDS.
• If possible, breastfeed. Although there is no evidence that directly links breastfeeding with a decreased rate of SIDS, breast milk is thought to keep babies healthy.
• Limit your baby’s exposure to people who have respiratory infections. This means if you know someone is sick, don’t let them around your baby, and try to avoid taking your baby to crowded places where there may be sick people.
• Make sure your baby does not get too warm while sleeping. To avoid overheating, cover the baby only with a light blanket that reaches no further than the shoulders. Some researchers suggest that a baby who gets too warm could go into a deeper sleep, making it more difficult to awaken.

For parents who have experienced a SIDS death, there are many groups, including the Sudden Infant Death Syndrome Alliance, that provide grief counseling and contacts to local support groups. Growing public awareness of SIDS and the steps to reduce infants’ risk of SIDS hopefully will leave fewer parents searching for answers in the future.

Parent. What the heck does that word mean, exactly? I used to think that I knew, but after taking a step back, maybe I don’t. There are biological parents and foster parents, adoptive parents, stepparents-are they all the same?

Some people say a parent is simply one of the two people biologically connected to a child. The legal system likes this definition a lot. This can’t be the definition of a parent, though, because it doesn’t explain why kids in foster care or kids from divorced or blended families may call someone other than the two people responsible for their conception “mom” and “dad”. It doesn’t address those who adopt. It doesn’t address why some kids prefer the company of daycare providers or older, responsible siblings above other company. Some people say a parent is someone who provides financial support, but that can’t be it, either-even when money abounds, kids can complain and have a host of problems. Kids would probably say the definition of a parent is someone who makes their life miserable-on purpose.

The fact is that a parent is a strange creature. After all, what person in their right mind would bring home a screaming, wriggling little thing that demands that an adult undergo lack of sleep, worry, frustration, and general annihilation of bank funds (even if the person uses coupons)? Parents don’t get any financial reward for what they do, and anyone who ever has changed the diaper of a kid on formula will attest to the fact that being a parent doesn’t really earn a whole lot in terms of glamour points.

That being said, I think that the one defining characteristic of a parent is the capacity to care about another human being. Parents, regardless of age, gender, occupation, etc.-even regardless of whether or not they are biologically related to the child for which they care-are those who are willing to put a child’s needs above their own. They are those who regularly, every day, without fail, sacrifice and explain the world to those who don’t know it yet, who protect those who can’t yet protect themselves. Come rain or shine, they have food on the table (or at least, in a brown paper baggie or lunch box) and do all they can to make sure that a child doesn’t have to be afraid, that a child is safe and happy.

The definition of a parent out of the way, I should note that the reality of parenting is this: The capacity to care doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to be able to do it all and do it all right. Sure, there are those whose kids are always spotless and have the latest gadget, and sure, that can make us feel like we’ve failed if we can’t afford this or that and honestly just couldn’t stop our kid from jumping in a mud puddle on the way to school. Even so, a good parent doesn’t lose sight of an even larger truth-a few words of encouragement can be worth more than a new gadget, and a kiss on a boo-boo (even a dirty boo-boo) can seem like the kiss of a heroine. All kinds of people provide those kinds of things. So is a foster parent a real parent? Yes! A stepparent? Undoubtedly-but a big sister, a teacher, a social worker… those people act like parents, too. Even someone who never has had a child can have an innate sense of what a child needs and work to provide it unselfishly. Thus, my only conclusion is this: It’s not the label that matters. It’s what you do with a child that does.

When someone does you a good turn in life the most obvious reaction is to give them something back in return, to show that this good deed has been appreciated. Being a working parent there are times that favors are called in to save children from being abandoned at the schoolyard entrance due to some unforeseen circumstance in the daily working schedule, or a myriad of other little dramas. A small gift in this circumstance will go a long way to show your appreciation, for a kind deed.

My husband and I worked in the vineyard industry for many years, one of the best things about working for a company that produces alcoholic beverages is that the workers are paid a bonus each month of wine. This was great for the first few months but after a while the wine started piling up in our spare room as neither my husband or I were drinkers.

Things got even worse as we were new to the town we were living in and didn’t know many people, only a few school moms, who were great ladies and always willing to help out. Our family who was over 500 miles away weren’t interested in wine either. One day I had a bright idea to get rid of the wine, promote the vineyard we worked for and show our appreciation to people who were generous enough to help us out in times of need.

Anyone who did a good turn towards us was given a bottle of wine from our stockpile, with a little bow and small thank you note attached. It was amazing how much people appreciated our little gifts and how much more willing they were to offer assistance when we were in need. Also we felt better as we were giving something back in return and didn’t feel as though we were taking advantage of anyone’s good nature.

A gift can come in many forms, and can be an ideal way to show appreciation for a good turn. When you are generous toward your friends and acquaintances they are generous toward you in return, and will help you along in life and think of you even when you are not asking for something. This is a show of friendship and the true spirit of human nature.

From time to time I still catch up with those friends and bring along a bottle of wine and a cheerful smile for no reason at all. We all managed to benefit from those bottles of wine in some way or another, and they provided a great foundation to form lasting relationships with friends. Good people, who expect nothing in return for their kind deeds, appreciate it when their efforts have been acknowledged.

The tone in her voice was dismal. I was visiting a friend halfway across the country and my mother desperately wanted to shield me from the truth.

“She’s gone,” my mother uttered.

At first, it wasn’t clear to me who the “she” in my mother’s statement was until the numbing period of silence between us lingered and I burst into tears. No goodbyes, no last hugs, no last pat on the head. My precious pup, Scraps had been put to sleep and I was not there to comfort her. A mixture of emotions settled in, ranging from anger to guilt.

I have always had a dog in my life. Scraps was a stray who came to us during a harsh Upstate New York snowstorm. They say you can put a leash on a lost dog and they will sometimes lead you back to their home. In near-blizzard weather, my father and I did just that with Scraps, but instead, she led us right back to our own house. From then on, it was quite clear she was meant to become a part of our family. The dog had a great intuitive spirit. If I were sad, sitting on the stairs with my head between my legs, she would have none of that, plowing her face from underneath my legs to greet me on the other side.

After Scraps, I didn’t think I could find another dog that could fill the void. The following year, my boyfriend turned my gears a bit. He told me he would get me any dog I desired. “Just go out there and find one,” he said. I’ve always had a fondness for abandoned or unwanted dogs, so I scoured the local animal shelters looking for a worthy companion. I came home empty-handed.

Then, my father agreed to take me to my last option, a Humane Society about an hour outside of town. The drive was unbearable; I couldn’t wait. The shelter selection was small and I almost gave up hope.

“Why don’t you take a look at one of these puppies,” my father offered.

I had never owned a puppy before and wasn’t too interested, but I still squatted by the cage to have a look. Six little ones scurried about, dancing around a huge mountain of chow. One lone puppy stood up and latched his paws onto the cage in front of me. Our eyes met and I felt a real connection. It was like one of those moments when two people see each other from across a crowd and time momentarily pauses. He stood undaunted for minutes while his playful littermates raced back and forth. No whining, no tail wagging, no jumping or yelping, he just stayed there with undivided attention. His stare was mesmerizing.

“I want this one,” I exclaimed.

I cradled the pup in my arms. He felt softer than cotton, but smelled like an outhouse. He was perfect. Debating on what to name him, I took my father’s suggestion and called him “Oz.” It suited him. This jet-black ball of fur was quite magical to me. The moment he came home, my boyfriend asked me how I selected my gift. I had to correct him.

“No hun,” I replied. “This gift definitely chose me.”

Whenever I enter the backyard of my parent’s house, I still see his radiant smile surrounded by the fragrance of a calm autumn day. His image will always appear perched high above us all, on a tree branch set in the shadows of crabapples and sun-dried leaves. This was the last time I saw Uncle Ron, who dropped off his 20-year-old, lumbering monster of a dog, Jeremiah for my family to watch while he went in for a “simple procedure.” At that time, I was slowly approaching my pre-teen years and did not fully understand the severity of this hospital visit.

If you skim through the photo album of my mind, you will find many snapshots of my Uncle Ron, who was not my biological uncle, but my father’s best friend. As a young child, my father exposed me to a wide-range of life experiences and Uncle Ron was right there with us. Straddled on top of my father’s shoulders, I visited some of his favorite hangouts, meeting up with my Uncle Ron. While they listened to music and drank beer, I nursed a Cherry Coke and absorbed my surroundings like an eager sponge. When my father and I got stuck at the top of a ferris wheel, Uncle Ron was at the bottom grinning from ear to ear. When he passed away, it was the first time I ever saw my father shed a tear. I remember him as adventurous and humorous with a smile that lit up the room. It is this smile that I imagine emerging from the trees when I travel into the thick of the backyard, embracing the warmth of the sun.

Uncle Ron showered me with gifts that cultivated my imagination and opened my mind to new experiences. It was he, who fostered my interest in art, painting and drawing. One Christmas, I remember opening a nicely sized rectangular box, dressed in tissue paper. The light scent of what reminded me of cedar floated from the package, as I lifted a how-to-draw book. Various drawing pencils and charcoal sticks accompanied the book, as well as an acrylic paint-by-numbers set. I cherished this gift because it took me beyond sketching with pencils. It brought to life a whole new world of artistic expression.

Tucked under the tissue paper, there were a few plastic baggies containing tiny treasures that furthered my imagination. He had included a subscription to some sort of gem collecting service. Throughout the years, I received Tiger’s Eye, Jade and a diamond ring. I used to think the small pieces of precious and semi-precious minerals were priceless, hailing from important worldwide archeological digs.

Uncle Ron further sparked my interest regarding Africa, Asia, Europe and other places across the globe. For several years, he sent me a subscription to National Geographic. The colorful photos of jaguars, tropical fish and desert landscapes encouraged pleasant dreams, as well as influenced my art and writing. I am saddened that my uncle will never see how influential his gifts were to me. They fed my hunger for knowledge and provided me with the direction my young mind needed, as I navigated through the choppy waters of creativity.