The Differences We Make
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As a very young child, I recall hearing the phrase “Do what you love”. Growing up in the 70’s, my generation had the notion work shouldn’t be ‘hard’. If you do the kind of work you love, it won’t be drudgery. That’s a great idea, but let’s be real: How many of us are doing something we love to earn a living? If everyone had the career of their dreams, who would flip burgers, dig ditches, or clean up nuclear contamination? Most of the jobs I had in the past were closer to nightmares. Probably the best example is the cable installer job, which ended the evening I crawled under a trailer and put my hand down on a nice, large, warm, soft dog turd. There wasn’t a lot of personal satisfaction in that line of work. Of course, I could tell myself ‘You are helping people stay connected’ to boost my self-esteem but it wasn’t enough to make me feel as if I was making a positive difference in the world, especially after the dog turd incident. Somewhere, there was a person who would love that cable installers’ job, in spite of the dog turds, homeowners wielding butcher knives, and hoarders’ houses. I decided to let that someone have the job.
Several years ago, I began a job as a teacher at a proprietary vocational school (such as ITT Tech, but not as reputable). Rewards were replete. Seeing the light of understanding in the eyes of someone who was all but paralyzed by fear of failure – it was the greatest self-esteem builder of my life. It nurtured me in a way that a paycheck can’t and I will never forget those years. I was making a difference at that job. The results of my work were clear to see.
This brings me to my current job, operating Wisethrift.com, or Artifacts. Before I got into this line of work, I had stopped expecting to make a difference. I thought money was the only satisfaction I would get in the Antique Glassware and Collectibles field. Instead of making a difference, I tried to placate myself by believing I was saving bits of history from the garbage dump, saving our tangible past for future generations to appreciate. That was a nice, warm feeling but it didn’t compare to teaching until one day last summer.
I was awakened by a phone call one morning, shortly after we moved into this townhouse in ‘the hood’. An articulate, excited gentleman was on the line. I will refer to the caller as ‘Ron’. He lived in the St. Louis area and he was excited about a pair of tiny tea cups I had listed for sale on wisethrift.com. The cups bore the logo for GM&O Railroad (Gulf, Mobile, and Ohio), which used to run through the St. Louis area. They were demitasse size or possibly from a child’s tea set. I assume they were sold as souvenirs by the railroad company. They probably held less than 4 ounces. Ron wanted to be reassured that I still had the cups and he could buy them.
Down to the basement I went to search through 40 or more cartons. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find them. After placing them in a nice little box with packing paper, I called the customer and gave him directions to come pick them up. When he came to get the cups, he told me why he wanted the cups so urgently. His father worked for the GM&O and recalled that time on the railroad with fondness. The father was in his 90’s, frail and in poor health. Ron expected his father would die soon, so he set about doing his best to make his fathers’ last days joyful. Ron told me that his father would drink his morning coffee from one of these cups and enjoy the pleasant memories it brought him. He said it was also providence that there were 2 cups because ‘dad’s hands were a bit shaky’.
After he told me this, I added, “You can tell your dad you bought these cups from the daughter of another railroad man.” That should make his eyes twinkle even more. It was a bit spooky, this serendipitous meeting. My dad worked for Southern Railway for over 40 years
When Ron arrived, he shook my hand warmly, once – twice – three times, maybe more. He thanked me profusely as though I had done something wonderful. I wasn’t expecting that kind of emotional reward for simply buying some cups and listing them on the internet. It never occurred to me that something I had listed for sale could have that kind of positive impact on the buyer. If Ron had shook my hand one more time, I think I would’ve started crying.
I had no more doubt after that day. I knew I had done something small that made a difference for one railroad man and his son. Sometimes it’s the little things we do, without thinking about their consequences or effect on others. I think my Dad would’ve liked this story. Here’s an old song he liked, it was played at his funeral.