There is a woman that I have been friends with since high school. Like myself, she is of Polish descent, but that is not our only commonality. We’ve always been brutally frank with each about most everything, no topic is off the table. I’m not certain, but it may be a common thread, because when I think about it, for the most part, my Polish friends are all rather open and honest about all subject matters.
Anywho, I will be going for yet another outpatient surgery this week and I was telling my team about the little things I’m getting myself prepared for. Having carpal tunnel surgery, odds are I’m not going to be able to floss my teeth with ease. I will definitely need to pick up some of those dental picks, less I become a dental hygiene horror. I mentioned how I will not be able to get the bandage wet for two weeks, so I will have to put my hand into a bag and tape it shut if I want to take a shower. This will be less arduous than when I had my pacemaker batteries changed. That was when I had to take a “birdbath” in the sink or use moist towelettes. However, when I mentioned that term to one of my Polish friends, she had a tawdrier term for it, which brings me to the title of my little story.
I’ll never forget the day when I and another friend went to pick up my friend from home, where she lived with her parents. My friend’s mother became a part of the conversation when my friend said that she had to take a shower before we could leave. That is when her mother chimed in, “You girls shower too much, it’s going to dry out your skin. Pits and pubes, pits and pubes, that’s all you need to wash.” My friend broke down in tears, horribly embarrassed by what her mother had just said, and in front of her friends, nonetheless. The second friend consoled her, filled with sympathy and me…I couldn’t stop laughing! I had never heard of such a thing. “Pits and pubes?!” I was doubled over with laughter.
I don’t know, maybe I’m just not as kind and caring as others are, but I keep getting accused of being so. I firmly believe that it comes from my mother, another Polish soul. She was always giving, and giving and giving some more because it brought her joy. If she read a newspaper article and thought it may be of interest to one of my friends, she would cut it out and save it for them. My mother was a hoarder, but she kept her piles organized. One friend of mine (I’m not certain if she is of Polish descent, maybe a little) to this day, fondly remembers my mother doing that for her. It’s amazing the little things that stick with us, those small acts of kindness.
I used to call my mom from high school during lunch time. Yes, it was a nice thing for me to do, but really, I remember doing it because I thought it made me look cool, that I had someone to call from school. Like I said, I really don’t see myself as being that kind of a person, but I keep being accused of it. I remember one phone conversation, my mother thanked me for buying her a candy bar, I believe it was a Snickers. I told her, it was no big deal, but she corrected me by saying, “No, that means you thought of me today.” I was a rotten kid and told her to not make a big deal out of it, but I still recall that phone conversation and was glad that I made her feel that way.
Those little acts of kindness, things we pass down to our children without even realizing it. My mother was overly generous and somehow, I managed to inherit some of it and pass it down to my kids as well. I’ll never forget the day that I wasn’t feeling well and my youngest, who was maybe three or four at the time, made me toast with butter and a sprinkle of sugar on it, just the way I like it. He probably thought nothing of his act of kindness, but it meant the world to me. Such a gentle soul, he even once brought me a glass of water and some tissues when I was crying and said, “Here mommy, you’re broken.” and he was right, it was just after my marriage had ended and I was indeed, very broken, but my Little Bear was there to console me. As for my eldest, it’s a little harder for them to show it, but they do so by reading my blogs and engaging in long phone conversations.
I had a friend over for dinner who is gluten free. She seemed overly impressed with the fact that I went out of my way to make certain that what I served was something she could eat. I didn’t think anything about it, it’s just what one does when one invites someone for dinner. However, she really appreciated the gesture and so even though it was difficult for me to admit that I was being kind, I simply said “You’re welcome.”
My brother tells me that I’m a kind person because I always take care of things, but it’s just who I am. I like taking care of people, plants, everything really, it brings me joy. You may be asking yourself, “What the hell does any of this have to do with pits and pubes?” Well, in a strange way, it all comes full circle. You see, my friend may have been horrified for a moment, but I like to think that me laughing about the statement, made her feel less horrified. I mean really, come on, it was funny and we still laugh about it today. Being open and honest about most everything, I don’t know how else to be and neither does she.
If someone wants to believe that me just being me is somehow being kind, that’s cool, but that’s how my mom was and yeah, even my dad. I remember us always giving more than we had to share, but it brought us joy. We may not have had a lot, but we had more than others and well, why not give when one can, right?
This little story had a mind of its own. It started off with a youthful memory that brings me joy every time I tell the story. My friend’s act of kindness is to share that memory with me and laugh. It’s these little acts of kindness, that I want to be remembered for. Yeah, I’m kind of crazy, but I’m really nice, I make a great cheesecake and I tell silly stories that seem pointless, but maybe not.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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