Raising A Giver, a lesson from my father

I have a special affinity for the Disabled Veterans Association.  Although I respect veterans, this is not the organization my friends might associate with me.  I have my father to thank for this attachment.

When I was seven or eight years old, my father sent in a donation to the DVA on my behalf.  He continued to give small donations to them here and there over several years and always under my name.  I did not know anything about the association nor did I give it much thought.  I did, however, love the address labels with my name that the organization sent me and even the cheap mix of greeting cards that sometimes came in the place of address labels.  I was eight and I just enjoyed receiving mail of any kind.

I don't know why my dad did this.  Perhaps he thought it was a worthwhile charity.  Perhaps he got a "please donate" mailing from them and thought it would be cute to send it in my name.  Perhaps it was to include in his list of charities for tax purposes.  Perhaps he did not put any thought into it.

I don't believe that it was his purpose to teach me a lesson about giving, but that was the unintentional result.  That simple act of sending a few dollars to a randomly chosen charity has made me a giver.  Not only did I become a giver, but also, I gained a passion for giving that stays with me today.  No matter what my salary has been, I have always given a portion of it to various charities.

Over the years I've given to the National Parks Assoc, a women's collective in the state of Gujarat, a girls' school in Andhra Pradesh, the New York Public Library, Operation Santa Claus, Nothing But Net, Doctors Without Borders, March of Dimes, One campaign, Salvation Army, Feed Project, the Girl Scouts (umm, cookies), my alma maters (does that count?), and the many races/marathons/iron mans that my friends have run for charity.  When that didn't seem satisfying enough, I devoted my time.  I was a mentor to an 8 year old, I volunteered at a domestic abuse helpline, I ran various races, I painted playgrounds, I helped out with the NY marathon, I reigned in rude high school kids at Derek Jeter's kids charity (long, hot story!).  Wow, I didn't realize how difficult it would be to recall everything.  My dad deserves all the credit.

As a parent, I struggle with how to pass onto my son the correct morals and beliefs.  How do you teach someone to be a good person?  Whenever it seems overwhelming, I think back to the simple lessons from my father.  I didn't get my beliefs from a lesson plan.  I got them from a role model.

Family Democracy

I was six years old when I was introduced to politics.  It was the election year of 1980 and my family lived in Georgia, the home state of one of the candidates, Jimmy Carter.  It was an exciting time for state pride although the other candidate, Ronald Reagan would go on to become president.  I had no idea what a presidential election really meant, but the charged atmosphere was enough to get my precocious mind thinking.

"Daddy, what party are you?"  I asked.
"I am whatever our president is," he replied.

At the time, I did not react to that answer. I was looking to hear one of two responses and I did not understand what he meant. Almost thirty years later, I consider it a beautiful and simple statement that has enormously influenced the way I live my life.

I remember when Reagan was up for re-election and ran a brilliant campaign commercial using the song, "I'm Proud to Be an American," with scenes of "real" America - farms, steel mills, churches and coal miners.  I was ten then and still did not understand the scope of politics, but I was hooked.  I was proud to be an American.  Considering the landslide victory that year, I think much of America felt this way.

Growing up, I had no political affiliation although I followed politics somewhat.  I wasn't a taxpayer and I wasn't old enough to vote, so I did not think it necessary to take a side.  I took what my dad said to heart.  I turned eighteen and started my first year of college in the election year of 1992.  I excitedly registered to vote in our campus mailroom.  Given the choice of party affiliation, I chose "Independent."  Now, don't get me wrong, I went to one of the most liberal colleges in the country and I've only voted in one direction the last seventeen years.  Yet, I valued my Independent status.

I vote in every election.  Sometimes my candidate wins and sometimes a different candidate wins.  The majority has spoken.  As an adult, I have strong opinions on the issues, but I haven't forgotten the lesson from my father.  In fact, I find it quite intellectual to understand and debate the opposite of what one thinks. I find it more rewarding to be compassionate and empathetic to other people's thinking than to bully others into my opinion.  That doesn't stop me from shaking my head in frustration, but I will listen respectfully.

It was not until later that I would understand that my dad was a citizen of his birth country India; thus, he was not able to vote in the 1980 election.  Despite this, he was and is well-versed in politics, current events, international news, and local affairs.  A lack of a vote did not mean apathy.  I've noticed that he takes the diplomatic route rather than the divisive one in most situations, whether presidential politics or family politics.  He has strong opinions, but he methodically weighs the arguments of both sides.  I am proud to be my father's daughter.