In The Spirit of Giving
Sarah Groundwater
A good friend of mine has his birthday on the 7th of December. He has begun an annual tradition of having all of his friends over to his house to make hundreds of peanut butter and jam sandwiches while drinking copious amounts of beer. Last year I bailed. I was not feeling too well, it was cold outside and to be quite honest the prospect of handing out sandwiches to drug addicts and the homeless was not my idea of fun. I must tell you I live near the famous intersection of Main and Hastings in Lower East Side of Vancouver so I am very well in tune with the problems of those less fortunate. I must also tell you that I consider myself to be sympathetic and generous. Just not generous enough to leave the coziness of my home and speak to people who yell at me during the day (not to mention who urinate openly in my back lane).
This year was different. I have been growing continually more sympathetic to the plight of the downtown eastsiders. So I went and made PB&J sandwiches. I bought a big old jar of each as well as two loaves of the softest white bread I could get my hands on. It isn’t about nutrition—it’s about comfort food. I also bought thirty pairs of plain white socks. To people living in cold, wet rain, socks are a hot commodity. All of my friends gathered to make a few hundred sandwiches that were oozing jam and peanut butter and smelled like childhood.
I was shy at first; going to an area I generally stay away from. One that has a horrible energy of sadness and desperation. Pigeon Park smells of crack, urine and unwashed bodies. When we arrived we were stared at like crazy idiots (they wondered which church we came from) and got odd stares. But as soon as we started handing out our offerings, we were the most popular people on Hastings.
Within a half an hour, all our treats, socks, and toques were gone. They were taken by women who were shaking uncontrollably because of a high drug dose, men whose bodies had been beaten and battered, and others who just fell out of society somehow. One woman couldn’t believe what we were doing and wanted us to know that she thought about us and was so happy we thought about them. Another wanted to shake the birthday boy’s hand. And another wanted a hug from me – and not in the disgusting ‘grab her butt’ way, but in the way that wanted some comfort from another human being.
That night gave me the most sensational feeling of inspiration and gratitude. This is my community and I want to help these people. I suddenly understood this selfless giving at Christmas that everyone talks about. Giving to a food bank is one thing, but seeing those in need actually eating the food is incredible. I saw Bill Clinton talking about his new book Giving and how giving isn’t really selfless at all. It is selfish because it makes us feel so good. It’s so true.
Remember the days as a kid when you had so many presents that were so fun to open? The ones that kept you up at night dreaming about Christmas morning? As I get older, I get that same sense of anticipation but it comes from knowing I got my mum the perfect gift, or get to spoil my dad for once. Watching a child open up the gift you gave and treasure it, is an amazing feeling. And passing on a tiny piece of joy to someone who really really needs it, is probably the best gift we can give to ourselves.