Reading the cards the next morning went much faster. It had to, or I would have been late for school. Ahh…the power of deadlines.
On Wednesdays, Darnell and I had lunch together. All he had on his tray were an undressed salad and an apple. I kept my bologna sandwich half hidden from him behind my thermos, as if that would make a difference.
“Down to 235 I see. Wow, that’s like a pound a day.”
“Yeah.” He grinned, but his voice was flat. His grin collapsed as he looked at his salad.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Kinda…but no pain, no gain, right?” Darnell pulled out his card and read it to himself before taking a bite out of his apple.
“How do you know if it’s too much pain?”
“I dunno. I just wanna hit the goal on my card.” He put the card away and wiped his forehead. “I can suck it up for another few days. I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?”
Christy burst into fifth period, cheering that her team won their latest swim meet, making them 3-0 for the season.
I didn’t want to offer a report. I wasn’t embarrassed to share—I wouldn’t tell them the full details of my break down. It’s just that I still didn’t get the point of what I was doing and definitely didn’t believe the words I was saying. So maybe it was embarrassment. I felt like the loser in class with the dork assignment.
Fortunately, Jarod had news. “I reached this guy, Bill. He runs a big landscaping business a couple of towns over. He didn’t have a lot of time for me, but he offered me a deal.”
“What’s the deal?” Mr. Griffin asked.
“He says he’s got a big job he’s working this Saturday. He can use another set of capable hands. If I’m willing to come work the full day for nothing, then I can ask him as many questions as I like while we work.”
“What did you say?”
“I wanted to think about it but didn’t tell him that. So I told him I’ve got a job that I’d see if I could move to another time. I’m supposed to get back to him with an answer today.”
“Why the hesitation?”
“I’ve got my own jobs I can be working Saturday and actually get paid. I can push them off a day, but that means I’ll be working like a dog on Sunday. No doubt Bill will work me hard on Saturday too, and he expects me to do the entire thing for free.”
“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind. Why didn’t you tell him ‘no’ on the spot?”
“Truthfully, I wanted to wait until I spoke with you, Mr. Griffin. Do you think I’d be making a mistake?”
Wow. Jarod seeking out the advice of a teacher? These cards were certainly having an effect on him.
Mr. Griffin smiled. “You really want to know what I think?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I think you’d be making a giant mistake.”
“So you think I should work for free?”
“Free? Absolutely not.”
“So what do I do? Go back and see if he’ll pay me for the day?”
“No, his offer was clear. Take him up on his offer and don’t ask for any money for your work.”
Jarod laughed. “Didn’t you just say I shouldn’t work for free?”
“No one’s asking you to. Never be afraid to give value to get value. He’s offering you something potentially far more valuable than money: his advice.”
Jarod crossed his arms. “How do I know what that’s worth?”
“You don’t.”
“Sooo…”
“There’s a concept I want you all to learn called Asymmetrical Risk/Reward.”
“You finally gonna teach us some math?” Jarod asked.
“Not exactly. Asymmetrical Risk/Reward means you want to put yourself in situations where you risk little to potentially gain much.”
“Like betting on long shots?” Jarod asked.
“No, more like betting on favorites with long shot odds.”
“They never give that option at the track,” Jarod said.
“No, they don’t. The tracks and the casinos will always stack the odds against you, whether you’re betting on favorites or long shots. But in life, odds can vary greatly.”
“Like how?” Christy asked.
“You experienced two opposite examples of Asymmetrical Risk/Reward, Christy, when you lost a swim coach, and then when you gained a new one.”
“I don’t follow,” she said.
“You lost your coach to a drunk driver. Getting behind the wheel when he’d been drinking put the driver and others at tremendous risk. Yet the reward, the pleasure of a few drinks, was minimal.”
Christy recoiled.
“Then you found a great new coach by calling the top swim coaches in the world. The risk was negligible—it only took a few hours of your time—but the rewards were tremendous.”
Jarod pursed his lips. “So you’re saying that my risk here is just a day of lost wages. If Bill has nothing valuable to teach me, then I’ve worked for nothing, which is no big deal. But if he has something worthwhile to share, if he can help me reach my goal, then I could eventually make thousands of dollars from that one day’s work.”
Mr. Griffin nodded. “Ask any successful business person how much their biggest mistakes have cost them. You’ll be shocked by the numbers they give. If you can learn from another’s mistakes, you can save yourself years of hardship. The flip side is also true. It probably took him years to learn his most profitable lessons. And you can get all that for one day of sweat.”
Jarod pulled out his phone. “I’ll do it.”
I continued reading my cards twice a day, checking off the app each time. While it was never quite easy, I didn’t break down like I had that first time. I became more creative with my nicknames and started to enjoy the exercise. Captain Generosity gave way to Generosity Man, which didn’t sound quite as cool, but at least had a theme song (“generosity man, generosity man, giving all that generosity can”). And then there was Sensitivity Superstar, which made me think of the Emmy’s.
That Friday night, I babysat again. I asked Megan what kind of pizza she wanted, though I knew she’d say mushroom. “Want to get garlic sticks too?” I asked.
Megan avoided looking at me. “Whatever.”
“Helloooo. Want them or not?”
Megan’s shoulders rose and fell. I squatted to get a better look and saw her eyes were red. By unspoken rule, we left each other to do our own thing when I babysat, but I had a sudden inspiration.
“Hey, it’s going to be a half hour before the pizza gets here. Want to go for a walk?”
“A walk?” She rolled her eyes at me. “Really?”
“Why not?”
“Well for one, it’s freezing out.”
“It’s not so bad, and it’s a clear night. Come on.”
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I just think it would be nice to go for a walk.”
Megan shrugged, but then said, “Okay, I guess,” and got up to get her coat while I called in the pizza.
It really was cold out. I tightened the scarf around my neck. “How are things going?” I asked.
“Fine.”
What did I expect, that she was going to open up the moment I tried to act brotherly? “You having a hard time?” I tried again.
She crossed her arms. “A bit, I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Had we been inside the house, I probably would have given up at this point. But even if we turned around now, we’d have to walk home together. I’d feel like an idiot doing it in silence. “I had a tough time when I was your age,” I said.
“You did?”
Where had she been? There were only five years between us. Surely even then she was old enough to notice I spent most of my time alone on my computer. Then the truth slapped me in the face. She wouldn’t have seen that, she was only eight at the time. I was the one who should have noticed she was now on her own most of the time. This wasn’t the first time her eyes had been red from crying. Where had I been?
The answer came screaming in. I’d been so absorbed in my own pity party that I’d spared no attention for her struggles.
It’s strange. I’d tried to be there for her tonight, tried asking her about her hard time, and she bottled up. Then I mentioned my own, and she suddenly seemed interested. I didn’t understand it, but decided to take the opening.
“Oh yeah, seventh grade was the worst for me. I still don’t have as many friends as I’d like, but back then I had none.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It’s like when I was young, all the boys were more or less the same. Then when we hit middle school, suddenly I felt different.”
“How?”
“Well, my interests weren’t theirs. I was into computers. They were into girls.”
Megan laughed. “You weren’t into girls?”
I laughed along with her. “I was, but none of them ever seemed to notice me. It’s like there were suddenly all of these rules about how you had to look, how you had to talk, or whatever. But no one ever explained the rules to me, and the ones I did get seemed stupid.”
“I totally know what you mean.”
“In elementary school, we were all friends with each other. Middle school was a lot bigger—there were so many more kids. All these groups started forming, and before I knew it, I was on the outside.”
“Yeah, that’s how it feels with me.” Megan wrung her hands together as if debating something, then said, “A bunch of girls are over at Joanna’s tonight for a sleepover.”
“You and Joanna used to be such good friends.”
Megan nodded.
“But she didn’t invite you, and you’re feeling left out.”
“Yeah.”
We came around the block back to our house. Inspiration struck again. “What do you say we make a huge vat of popcorn and watch The Princess Bride tonight?”
“Can we do it in our PJs?”
“Absolutely.”
We’d reached our front door. For the first time I could remember, Megan hugged me. “That sounds great.”
The next morning I took my notecards into the bathroom. Though I still locked the door and turned on the radio, it didn’t feel as necessary as on that first night.
I looked at myself in the mirror and, for the first time, had little difficulty holding my gaze. I said, “Kelvin, I love you,” and laughed at the silliness of it. The awkwardness was still there, but it was no longer so difficult.
When thinking of examples of my sensitivity, I reflected on my walk with Megan and the fun night we shared.
When I read off the card about how funny I was, I thought of all the moments I got Megan to laugh after we’d already finished the movie and sat up eating ice cream and telling stories.
In fact, for each trait on my card, something about Megan came up. And the strange thing was that I felt great. Here I’d spent a Friday night doing exactly what I’d tried desperately to avoid for years—sitting at home with my kid sister while the cool kids at school partied—and I’d had a great time.
After reading through all of my card (which only took ten minutes this time), I decided to visit Darnell. He hadn’t reached out since that night I’d blown him off a week earlier. Suddenly, I wanted to connect with him and see how much progress he was making toward his goal.
I made it over to his house in the early afternoon and found him watching football with his family, as usual. While none were quite as heavy as Darnell, everyone in his family was obese. All of them sat on the couch watching the game, except for Darnell, who chugged away on his treadmill. He wasn’t quite running—I doubted Darnell had run since middle school—but he kept a fast walk.
“Hi Kelvin,” his mom said. “Nachos?”
Darnell’s mom had always been incredibly warm and welcoming whenever I’d been to their house, and the woman knew how to cook. Now she extended a plate of nachos dripping with cheddar cheese and flecked with bacon. I didn’t like the idea of eating junk food in front of Darnell, but I also didn’t want to be rude and refuse, especially given how good the nachos looked. “Thanks, Mrs. Jones.” I helped myself to a small serving, poured some picante salsa on the side, and plopped myself onto a plush armchair.
Darnell’s eyes followed the plate of nachos.
“How’s it going, Darnell?” I asked.
“Good. Five more pounds to go.”
“I’ve never seen him work so hard.” Mrs. Jones sipped her Mountain Dew.
Darnell smiled at the praise, but the smile only lasted a moment. I didn’t think a 230-pound man could appear starved, but that’s exactly how he looked. There was a desperation in his eyes, as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His father ate a slice of sausage pizza, and his sister had already moved onto ice cream for dessert. But Darnell kept his eyes on the TV as though it were a bull’s eye.
I stayed until the end of the first game—Darnell walking on the treadmill the entire time—and I left marveling at his willpower.
On Monday, Darnell came in another two pounds lighter, but it wasn’t just his weight that had dropped. Dark caves sunk under his eyes, and his skin was pasty—like raw brownie batter.
Mr. Griffin took one look at him, then turned his attention away. “Jarod, how did it go with Bill on Saturday?”
“OK, I think.”
“You think?”
“He worked me hard and didn’t say much.”
“Any value in what he did say?”
“Not sure.”
“Tell us about it.”
“Well, I showed up at 7:30 Saturday morning at the address he gave me, just like we agreed. The houses out there are like four times the size of the ones around here, and the yard was at least ten times the size of the ones I normally work on. I saw the truck from his landscaping company in the driveway, so I knew it was the right address. There wasn’t any work being done in the front, so I went around to the back of the house. The backyard was even bigger, with a pool and a whole decked out patio, but I didn’t see any work being done back there either.
“So I returned to the front and rang the bell. Bill answered the door himself. Turns out it was his house. Even though I was on time, he said, ‘Glad to see you’re finally here. Let’s go.’”
In middle school, Jarod had starred in all the school plays. He gave up drama when he’d given up all other school activities, but he still had a knack for doing voices. He portrayed Bill as having a rough, somewhat Italian accent.
“We got into his truck, but as we drove off, he looked at my pickup. ‘You got a snow plow for that thing?’ When I told him no, he said, ‘Get one.’
“I’ve got a decent snow blower, and I told him I never wanted to spend the money on a plow for the truck, especially when I still needed a snow blower for the walkways anyway.
“This just pissed him off. He said, ‘One shnook pushing a snow blower is no different than another shnook pushing a snow blower. A 10-year-old can do the same work as you for half the price.’
“When I told him that I make more money on snow days than any other day of the year, he said, ‘How much?’ I told him, and he just said, ‘peanuts.’
“He said, ’99% of the time no one values manual laborers. The exception is emergencies. When there’s a heavy snowstorm, a guy with a truck and a plow is more important than the governor. That’s when guys like you and me make our money.’
“I said there’s only so much time during a snow day.”
“He waved me off. ‘That’s why you don’t even worry about the piddly jobs. If someone asks you to plow their walk, you tell them you’ll get to it once the snow stops falling and all the driveways are clear. Then you watch and see what happens. If some hysterical businessman says he needs his parking lot plowed out, and he’s a mile away, what do you do?’
“I book it over there.”
“‘The hell you do. You tell him absolutely sir, you’ll be happy to get to it in a couple of hours when you’re in that part of town. Then you watch and see what happens.’
“He’ll go nuts.”
“‘Exactly…’”
“Most of the day the equipment was too loud for us to hear each other. When we got a quiet moment, he barely even answered my questions but kept spitting out random pieces of advice. Whenever I asked him to explain anything, he would say, ‘You just watch and see what happens.’”
“So are you going to buy the plow for your truck?” Mr. Griffin asked.
“I don’t know. It’s going to cost me thousands of dollars out of my college fund. What do you think, Mr. Griffin?”
“I know little about landscaping. Did it strike you that Bill knew what he was talking about?”
“His house was certainly nice enough. I expect he does know. It’s a big expense, but it will last me for years. I can do a lot more driveways with a truck plow.” Jarod slapped his desk. “I’m going to do it.”
Tuesday night, my mom made my favorite: homemade ravioli with mushrooms. By the time she finished cooking, flour covered the countertops, two sticky pots sat on the stove, and chopped mushroom bits lay scattered about.
Megan brought her latest art project to the table; she hadn’t done that since she was in the second grade. I knew she’d want compliments and was nervous to see what she’d made. But it turned out I had no reason to worry.
“Wow,” I said.
“You’re just saying that…” Megan shrank.
“No, really, those strawberries look good enough to pick off the page. They remind me of the ones at Golder’s Farm.”
She danced in her seat. “That’s what I was thinking of when I drew them. You really think it’s good?”
“No, I think it’s cruel. Golder’s won’t open for picking until June.”
Megan’s face lit up. “Thanks, Kelvin.”
After dinner, our dishes piled up in the sink. Megan went off to her room, and Dad grabbed the newspaper and headed to the den. Mom pulled out her pink gloves from under the sink. She stood to face the mountain of dishes and sighed.
“How about I do the dishes tonight.” Did I really say that? I hated doing dishes.
Mom turned around, her face frozen in shock.
“Gimme the gloves.” I stretched out my hand and she hesitated. “Come on, Mom. You can dry, okay?”
Mom shook her head and woke out of her shock. “Um… okay.”
She picked a towel from the drawer and took the first plate from my hand. “This reminds me of when Dad and I first got married. Dad had a lot more time on his hands when he was finishing his doctorate. He used to wash dishes, and I would dry.”
“Was this in Boston?”
“Yeah. We had this tiny little studio apartment with a kitchen small enough to fit into your closet.”
I soaped up the first pot. “What did you do when Dad was studying?”
“I took classes at the museum of art. That’s when I painted the snowy landscape in the hallway.”
I stopped and turned to face my mom. “You painted that?” How did I not know that? “I thought you got it at a gallery or something.”
Mom blushed. “I must have told you…”
I shrugged and turned back to the sink. I probably hadn’t paid attention – this was turning out to be a theme. “Did Dad paint something too?” It was hard to imagine, but then again, I hadn’t known about Mom.
Mom cackled and almost dropped the heavy pot I’d just passed her. “Dad? No,” she said, “But we first met at the art museum.”
My shoulders clenched. I should have known this story. But I didn’t. “Tell me…”
“Some famous art guy Smithy or Smithers or something came to the museum to talk about Monet when I was in my last year of college and just getting interested in painting. Dad had already started his PhD, and I think needed a break from reading so many biology papers.” Mom grabbed a handful of forks and ran the towel along each one as she spoke. “He said he just ‘happened’ to sit next to me. I think he did it on purpose. The lecturer was late, so we got to talking.”
“And you liked him?” I’m sure that sounded wrong. I was just surprised anyone could find my dad attractive. He always looked so… dorky. His hair was all over the place, he had dandruff and seemed to dress a decade behind the times.
“He was a great listener. He asked me all about the art in the museum and barely said anything as I told him about my favorite artists and their different painting styles.” Mom’s hands grew still, and her eyes looked up in reverie. “After the talk, we walked around the museum, and I showed him my favorite pieces. He was so happy to hear my thoughts. I liked that.”
“So then you started dating?”
“No.” Mom giggled. “I thought he was too nerdy.”
I waited for her to finish the forks then passed her the knives. “So what happened?”
“He kept asking to spend time together, and he was nice enough, so I went. Then, I don’t know—he grew on me.”
“How?”
“He was thoughtful. He took me to his favorite Mexican place, and when we got there, he asked the waitress all about her son. Dad knew the boy was sick and had been doing research in the medical library at the university to try and help. Then he left the busboy this big tip. He was this immigrant from somewhere in Africa who barely spoke a word of English. People usually ignore guys like him.” Dad still tipped busboys. It hadn’t occurred to me no one else I knew did that.
Mom laid the glasses upside down to dry on the countertop. “After a while, he looked different to me…”
“Different how?”
Mom tipped her head toward her shoulder like a little girl. “I thought he was cute. We never officially dated, but one day Dad brought me to the art museum, making up some story about a newly acquired sculpture. On our way to the new exhibits gallery, we walked through the Impressionists section. Dad stopped in front of the Monet painting, and that’s when I noticed that the words ‘Marry Me’ were written with pink rose petals on the floor.”
“Monet was your favorite,” I said.
Mom nodded—her grin illuminated her face.
On Wednesday, Christy and I were the only students in class when the bell rang. We waited a few minutes, but neither Darnell nor Jarod showed up. Strange, given that I’d passed them both in the halls earlier in the day.
Finally, Christy said, “What’s been going on with you, Kelvin?”
I had yet to give any updates in class. I got the impression that Mr. Griffin very intentionally had not drawn attention to me. I glanced up at him before responding, but he gestured for me to go ahead.
“I’ve been feeling great.” The words left my lips of their own accord, but felt true. It was easier to share now that it was just Christy listening. I knew she wouldn’t laugh at me like Jarod. Darnell wouldn’t laugh either, but my stomach clenched at the thought of talking about how good I felt in front of someone who looked so miserable.
I told Christy about my experience with my sister on Friday night, about going to Darnell’s on Saturday, and about helping my mother with the dishes the night before.
“But you’ve always been quick in this class to offer your help,” Christy said. “Why is that such a change?”
“I don’t know. I feel the shift, but I can’t put my finger on exactly why.”
“I bet you can,” Mr. Griffin said.
I hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I guess I was so filled with self-pity before that I didn’t have time for anyone else’s difficulties. No,” I corrected myself, “I had time, I just didn’t notice.”
The door opened, and Jarod walked in. “Where have you been?” Mr. Griffin asked, his voice more concerned than accusatory.
“The nurse’s office.”
“You look OK,” Christy said.
“It’s not me. I brought Darnell. He passed out during lunch.”
