Kindness Can Be Sticky

One of the things that makes me really happy in life is being witness to something that happens at just the right place and time.  You know, seeing something and thinking, THIS, THIS RIGHT NOW, THIS IS PERFECT.  THIS IS WHAT IS SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPENING, AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHERE IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPENING.

Those moments don’t pop up too often in life, at least not for me.  But one place that I can practically be guaranteed to witness at least one of them is the annual Kindness Yard Sale.

For the uninitiated, the Kindness Yard Sale is a fundraiser for Kindness Activist, which is a grassroots organization that, quite simply, SPREADS KINDNESS.  At Kindness Activist, we believe that sharing kindness, and then telling the stories of that kindness, causes kindness ripples.  That means that the people who read the stories we share are then inspired to go out into the world and spread kindness, too!!!  So, in a very real way, being open and talking about kindness can start a kindness revolution! 

My experience has been that the Kindness Yard Sale is a terrific place to see things happening at just the right place and time, and this year was no exception. 

There are hundreds of people at the yard sale – people of all shapes, sizes, ages, races, nationalities…  And they all convene on our yard and porches for two reasons:  1.  To find great treasures!  And 2.  To donate funds that will be used to spread kindness.  Every year more and more people attend the event and I get to meet lots of new people.  I love it!

Here is a short story of one example of something happening at JUST THE RIGHT PLACE AND TIME during the 2022 sale.

A man who looked like he was in his 20s came up and showed me the aqua colored funky helmet he had discovered at the sale and wanted to buy.  I asked if it fit, and he demonstrated that it did by putting it on over his long, curly brown hair.  It looked great – like a grungy surfer or skateboarder.  He really rocked it, and his grin showed me how happy he was to have seen it on the table and nabbed it.  “You can cover that thing in cool stickers!!” I commented.  He told me that was the plan, and that he had loads of stickers in mind.  He explained that his car had been impounded and his skateboard was now his mode of transportation, so this helmet was needed for safety. 

As we talked, he held the helmet in his hands and seemed to be a bit uncomfortable.  Then this man, this stranger, out of the blue asked if we needed help with the sale – if there was anything he could do for us.  That was music to my ears, and I quickly set him up on “hanger duty” – organizing hangers of clothes that had already been sold. 

I explained the job to him and gave him a place to do it, but he seemed distracted by his new helmet.  He kept returning to it – touching it uncomfortably.  “Do you have something I can clean this with??” he asked.  When I offered a paper towel, his frustration bumped up a notch and he said with more desperation, “No, maybe a wipe!  This is STICKY.  I need it not to be sticky…”

 

Honestly, I was a bit bothered.  I thought he was going to help out, but here he was asking me to go out of my way to clean his recent purchase.  “Can’t he just wait until he gets home and clean it??” I thought silently. 

 

It wasn’t until he looked at me and blurted, “I AM AUTISTIC.  THIS IS STICKY.  IT IS BOTHERING ME.  I CAN’T HAVE IT BE STICKY,” that I understood the situation.  It wasn’t simply a dirty helmet – it was a tactile distraction that was like nails on a chalkboard for him.  He would not be able to focus on anything else until he solved his helmet issue, and it was very upsetting to him.

 

Ahhhhhh yes!  The stickers that had been removed from the helmet had left a residue, making it sticky.

 

Once I understood, I set about finding a solution with him.  And, of course, I felt bad for silently begrudging his insistence and him taking me away from other things that needed doing.  But as soon as the issue was clear to me, I understood that this was the priority.  I was honored that he was willing to confront the problem head on and include me, so together, we would solve it.

 

I asked if he knew a method of getting the sticky off.  I didn’t have any Goo-Be-Gone, so he politely but determinedly explained that if I gave him some cooking oil and alcohol, he would be able to clean it.  I rushed into the house, brought back his supplies, and he went to work.

 

Once that problem was solved, he was happy to assist with anything that needed doing.  He sorted hangers.  He talked to customers and, when things got too loud and overstimulating by the cashier table, took some time away and stood in the relative quietness of the front porch.  He was super smart – he worked with one customer on how to re-set a laptop that had the donor’s password set up and talked with others about electrical and scientific issues.

 

But it was when a little boy walked up that I understood the real reason the universe ensured that the skateboarder stopped at the sale. 

 

A little boy and his mother stood in front of a small table by the check-out area that had two clear boxes on it.  “Are these for sale???” the mom asked hopefully.  “Oh yes they are!” I replied.  “Do you know what those are?”.

 

The mom grinned from ear to ear.  “Do I know what they are?  Yes!  They are Bey Blades, and they are the reason we came to the sale today.”.

 

The boxes were filled with Bey Blades.  I had heard of Bey Blades (a child had written a letter to Santa during the Santa project asking for them), but I didn’t understand their value.  A yard sale volunteer had brought me the boxes full of the toys earlier in the day and explained that Bey Blades were special and valuable, and they should not be in the big pile of toys for sale, but should be set aside for a special shopper. 

 

And there the boxes had sat – on an awkwardly placed table behind the check-out area.  But this mother and son happened upon them and were delighted. 

 

The mom pointed to her little son’s hand, which was carefully clutching a bey blade he brought with him to the sale.  “He brought this one, but he is looking for more,” she explained.  And when they opened the boxes, the boy’s jaw dropped and his eyes lit up.  So.  Many.  Bey Blades!!!

 

He reached in to touch them and it was like he had found gold.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.  “We will buy these!” his mom told him.  “All of them will be yours!!!”. 

 

It was as if he was Charlie Bucket and had found a golden ticket!!!  He was so happy!  He was speechless.  It was beautiful.

 

And that is when my new skateboarder friend quietly came up to the table.  “Do you know what THIS one is called?” he asked the boy, who shook his head no. 

 

The man who had been a bit awkward and uncomfortable with the noise and the stickiness had found his element.  He was a Bey Blade expert.  He picked the toys up gingerly and showed the little boy how they worked.  Demonstrated which were valuable (“Here!  Feel this one.  Now feel this one!  See how this one is heavier??  It is a special one!”).  The 2 boys bonded as the skater went through the pieces, smiling, proud that he could be the teacher.

 

The man who had earlier taken me aside, upset and irritated, saying, “People are talking for me!  I don’t need anyone to talk for me!!” was now talking for himself in an elegant language that only he and the little boy understood.

 

And I was witness.  Witness to 2 people being in the exact right place at the exact right time. 

 

It was beautiful.

 

Thank you to whoever donated those Bey Blades.

 

Thank you to the mom who so patiently listened to the explanations and made a nice donation.

 

And most importantly, thank you to the universe for somehow putting that man in the right place at the right time and allowing me to see it all unfold.  I am grateful.