May 7, 2018
On February 15 of this year, I flew with my daughter, Monica, to Tampa, Florida to tour two colleges she was considering. She had a four-day weekend from high school, so I thought it was the perfect time to go. I was eight weeks out from back surgery and believed I was up for the trip. Well, I was. And I wasn’t.
Realizing that she would be moving away to college in six months, I was quite excited to get to spend a few days alone with Monica (and, Florida’s sunny skies, compared to Ohio’s gray was an added perk). My husband, Terry was going to stay home so he could drive Monica’s twin sister, Andrea, to her Oberlin Conservatory trumpet audition in Northern Ohio that same weekend. The closer we got to the trip though, the more nervous I became. I hadn’t been able to exercise for nearly three months, which left me unable to walk and dealing with the frequent, unpredictable freezing events so common to Parkinson’s Disease. Nonetheless, I was determined to go with Monica to see what the Tampa universities in had to offer.
A feeling of dread washed over me as I got out of our van at the airport and realized I was too stiff to walk. Terry quickly flagged down an airline employee to bring a wheelchair over to me and I was whisked inside and through security. After getting to the gate, Monica left our carry-ons with me while she grabbed lunch for us. We ate and managed to get on the plane without incident.
Upon landing, the airline had a wheelchair waiting for me as I exited the plane. As we left the gate, the gentleman pushing me inquired as to where I needed to go. I explained that we needed to get to Alamo for our car rental. Shaking his head in frustration, he explained that just the day prior, the car rentals had been located across the street from the terminal, but as of that day, passengers would need to take a separate shuttle three miles down the road to a new remote car rental location. The airport employee was kind enough to get me on the tram to take us from our gate to the main terminal, and from there, to the waiting area for the shuttle that would take us to the car rentals. It was here, though, that he had to leave me. I slowly crawled out of the wheelchair and knelt on the ground. Monica was maneuvering through pedestrian traffic with both our carry-ons and had no way of helping me.
When the shuttle arrived, I was not moving well. Well, to be more accurate, I couldn’t walk. Much to my surprise, a complete stranger made his way over to help me onto the shuttle safely and find a seat for me, since I was rather unsteady on my feet. We made it quickly to the car rental lots. Again, this unknown person carefully guided me off, walked me to the Alamo car rental area and had me sit down. He then proceeded to march up to the Alamo counter where he explained to an agent that I was having difficulty walking and insisted that I be helped next, because I could not physically stand up to wait in the incredibly long line. The Alamo employee was very accommodating and agreed to see us at the counter immediately (which, admittedly, was not that fast, given my inability to move quickly).
When I turned to thank the stranger for accompanying me to the car rentals, he had already disappeared into the crowd. Though I had thanked him initially, I had hoped to thank him again. He didn’t know me and most likely would never see me again, yet he was kind enough to not look the other way and but, instead, insisted on helping me. He clearly did not have his car rental at Alamo, yet chose to first walk me to my destination, find help for me, and then blend in with the sea of other unfamiliar faces to go where he needed to be. In a world obsessed with reporting bad news, this individual helped a complete stranger without knowing anything of my circumstances, and clearly expected nothing in return. This is the kind of person I now strive to be.
I was ultimately able to drive us to the hotel easily and safely. We then took the opportunity to rest, knowing that we would spend several hours the next day touring the first college. Tampa was unseasonably warm, and my muscles struggled all the more to relax in the +80-degree temperatures. But I was fortunate this fine Friday to have cooperative muscles, and we made it through the entire tour without even falling behind the rest of the group. As a plus, Monica liked the university quite a bit.
The next day was Saturday, the weather was perfect, and we had nothing on our schedule, so Monica and I thought a trip to Clearwater Beach would be fun. Apparently everyone else in the Tampa Bay area thought so as well. Our hotel was just off the Courtney Campbell Causeway and a mere 20 miles from the beach, but traffic was very heavy and slow, with a lot of starting and stopping. Over an hour and a half later we happened upon a magical parking spot, practically on the beach, and soon were off to scout the premises and stake claim to a small spot for the afternoon. It was glorious to sit in the sun, stare at the vibrant blue skies, and listen to the rhythmic ocean waves roll onto the shore.
In the blink of an eye, though, the afternoon was fading, and it was time to head back. More heavy, stop-and-go traffic. Back at the hotel, we quickly showered and then headed over to my sister’s house for dinner. It had been an exhausting and physically challenging two days by the time we headed back to the hotel later that evening.
Monica and I parked and entered on the side of the hotel, which was a closer walk to the elevator we needed. Nevertheless, it was a slow, difficult walk for me. As I shuffled onto the elevator, I was vaguely aware of a man on the elevator with us. Immediately he asked if I was okay, and I nodded yes while staring at the floor. He hastily proceeded with a follow-up, “Are you sure you’re okay?” Slightly irritated now, I raised my head to look at him and explained that I have Parkinson’s and was just incredibly stiff. He took me completely by surprise when he reassured, “I know you do. And can I tell you something?” He spoke with such confidence that now I was eager to hear what he had to “tell me.” “I just want to tell you that you look fantastic.” My eloquent reply was to stare at him in disbelief and mutter a thank you. He rode to the top floor with us, made sure we got out without incident, and then rode the elevator back down to his room.
We all could have ridden the elevator in complete silence as most people do. He could have gotten off at his floor without any small talk, and I never would have given this elevator ride a second thought. But he was bold enough to check that I was okay and then pay me a compliment that left me grinning ear-to-ear. To be told I looked fantastic by a complete stranger was a big deal, especially when I felt so miserable. Such a small act of kindness powered me through the rest of the trip, through another campus tour the next day, through the unseasonable heat with uncooperative stiff muscles, and through one more trek from one end of the airport to the other, before finally making it home.
I now make a point of scanning my surroundings in search of people who could use an extra hand, and then offer whatever I can to help. These small acts of kindness not only help the other person – they afford me the opportunity to give back and not always be on the receiving end.
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