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Illustration by Alex Siklos
“You’ve got this, Gram.” How many times have I heard this phrase and marvelled at the heady mix of unconditional love and absolute confidence beaming up at me from the fresh, young face of my own personal cheerleader? This used to warm my heart to the point of goosebumps. Suddenly, it has become a gut punch as I am suddenly, shockingly, sheepishly aware that I now have a problem – I am on the brink of being unworthy of this trust.
Reducing a problem to its simplest form makes a solution much easier to find. The children in our lives know this instinctively and they remind us of it constantly as they skip, hum and stumble through their daily lives. They assume that all is well out there, that the adults have everything under control.
My granddaughter arrived at my door on a recent winter morning, wearing a pink T-shirt in stark contrast to the grey world outside and the dark, heavy cloud sitting on my shoulders. I commented on it immediately and she explained to me that it was Pink Shirt Day and although she was happy to be spending the day with me because of a sore throat, she was somewhat disappointed to be missing this special day at school. Anti-bullying day.
Eight-year-olds love nothing more than explaining concepts to grownups, and she patiently shrugged out of her cardigan, also pink, in order to reveal the message printed on her shirt. She read aloud, pointing to each word as she went along: “Kindness changes everything.”
I registered this with a jolt and was silent for a moment.
All the troubles of the world boiled down to three words and a simple, universal message. And then, in response to my stunned look, she threw up her hands and shook her head at me: “Come on, Gram, you already know that!” Another jolt.
The proverbial weight of the world is becoming heavier by the day, almost too much for many of us to bear. We suddenly find ourselves struggling distractedly through our daily lives in the shadow of a malevolent, unpredictable, noisy bully of a U.S. President. A toxic melting pot of chaos, intolerance and unbridled aggression is simmering upwind. We recoil in horror from each new assault on the foundations of decency and respect. Like the children, most of us thought the grownups in charge had things under control. Now, we can’t watch the news without feeling sick with foreboding. And, as frightening as the big picture is, there are also the grating, more personal irritations of the small picture, like personal travel.
On this cold and gloomy day I should have been packing for a road trip to the south, cancelled owing to my growing disgust and distrust with the actions of our neighbouring country.
Instead, I was staying home to watch the macabre circus play out from a safer vantage point on my own side of the border. In addition, I am rocked by the heartbreaking public betrayal by our cherished national hero, Wayne Gretzky, at a time when we need him most. This was, and remains, a fresh and festering wound. We are shocked, confused, terrified and furious in a seemingly endless loop. All of this has been wearing me down and wearing me out.
But I know exactly what my granddaughter would say: “I guess that’s what makes people mean. I guess that’s what makes them forget about kindness.”
Just when I – a gentle, tolerant, old-enough-to-know-better adult – have begun to feel I could boo an anthem, rip down a flag and swear at a politician, I have been saved by a pink T-shirt worn by a beautiful child who depends on me and believes in me. Kindness changes everything.
It’s a simple, powerful mantra for the dark days ahead and the most conventional of weapons against a gathering tide of hatred and fear. The pink-shirted children need me to be the responsible, reassuring, reliable adult they give me credit for being. My granddaughter is right. I did know this all along, I just needed to be reminded.
I was, and will be again, frightened, frustrated and furious. But I’m also ready to shine my light again and it’s a pleasing bright pink. Kindness changes everything and I feel better already.
I’ve got this.
Mary Brennan Fox lives in Kingston, Ont.
