... to Perform Unnecessary Acts of Kindness

Long before I was old enough to be the Italian Mama, I was a newly minted college graduate with a degree in English literature which, when combined with a subway token, provided me with the means to get an uncomfortable ride downtown.  With the economy in deep recession and with few concrete career goals in mind, I set off to New York City to find some kind of track for my aimless young life.  With deep ambivalence, I took a job as a staff assistant at a major advertising agency in the heart of mid-town Manhattan.  Oh, sure, it sounds glamorous and exciting - working on the 55th floor of a mid-town skyscraper; riding elevators with top advertising executives and hired talent (including Bonanza's lead actor Lorne Greene, who looked a little surprised when I didn't recognize him); strolling Fifth Avenue in my navy pumps and matching handbag on my lunch hour; watching commercials I played a small role in producing run on TV - but the job consisted mostly of answering phones, delivering copy to the typing department, opening mail, and making travel arrangements for my bosses (I worked for twelve!).  I earned just barely enough money to pay a very low rent on an apartment in New Jersey that required a one and a half hour commute each way on jammed-packed, malodorous commuter trains and subways. (Yes, there were multiple trains and subways on this commute.)  I ate yogurt I brought from home almost everyday for lunch, and dinner often consisted of soup and croutons. I mention these facts not to evoke sympathy so much as to note that all of these circumstances tended to detract somewhat from the Hollywood image you might conjure of a young single woman working one block away from Cartier, Tiffany's, and Trump Tower. 

© Copyright 2012 Roy Tennant. FreeLargePhotos.com

Having grown up in a sedate suburb of a small Pennsylvania city, my time in NYC/NJ developed certain characteristics that I recognized as responses to this unfamiliar, hyper-stimulating, gritty, and somewhat aggressive environment.  One response to feeling very vulnerable in a place where danger seemed to lurk around every corner  (remember NYC in the early '80s?) resulted in my total mental isolation from the hundreds of strangers who crossed my path  everyday.  I made no eye contact; I assumed a conspicuous appearance of oblivion to those around me (all the while on heightened alert for any abnormal and possibly threatening behavior); and in many cases, I displayed hostile signs of shutting people out: a well-placed scowl to the skeevie guy sitting opposite me on the subway; a brief and perfunctory nod to the token lady in the kiosk; a gruff order placed to the hot dog vendor. (Yeah, I ate them and survived! Shocking!)

It wasn't until I left the city and moved to a small college town that I realized how steeled against the potential dangers around me I had become.  It is hard to go out of your way to be kind and courteous to others when dropping your hostile defenses could result in losing your matching handbag to a quick-thinking street thug.  (I actually witnessed just such an event right in front of me in the middle of the afternoon.  Remember, this was the early '80s before Mayor Guiliani cracked down on the rampant street crime in the city.)  In my new small-town home, I realized I no longer needed a death grip to hold my purse; I didn't need to muscle my way ahead of people to enter a building or elevator or public transportation; it was OK and even pleasant to politely ask for menu items at the local cafe and offer a genuine and friendly smile upon receipt.  I slowly abandoned my aggressive posturing and gratefully relinquished this toxic lifestyle. 

Now the Italian Mama revels in witnessing unnecessary acts of kindness, helpful or courteous actions that are completely uncalled for by any kind of handicap or need, but done for the sheer joy of watching people's reactions to the unexpected gift.  I suppose people who enjoy city living manage to muster the courage to commit these types of acts and still feel safe. I never found the strength to sustain the confidence such neighborly behavior requires.  Maybe I was never meant to live in a big city.  Or maybe I just wasn't old enough.