Reflections - Just Be Nice
Larry Schardt (pronounced Shard) confused me at first. I met him at a Pittsburgh Pennwriters conference decades ago. Tall and decked in business attire minus the suit jacket, Larry’s wavy, white hair fell to his shoulders. He greeted everyone with raised peace fingers, a glowing smile, and a cheery “Rock ‘n’ Roll.” A hippy business man?
Positive and energetic, Larry radiated sunshine. People around him grinned. They walked with springy steps and spoke with joyful voices. A Penn State professor, a writer, and, yes, a hippy businessman who wrote and offered motivational presentations, he befriended all.
This past year, I revived my LinkedIn account and discovered Larry posted inspirational photos and quotes. These evoked the same uplift as Larry’s “Rock ‘n’ Roll” greetings. One of his posts especially touched me.
You seriously have no idea what people
are dealing with in their personal life.
So just be nice.
It’s that simple.
His posts tucked a tiny photo of his new book, My Runaway Summer, in the corner. Curious, I bought a copy.
Oh. My. Gosh.
I had no idea what he was dealing with in his personal life.
Part of Larry’s life paralleled that of Spence’s and mine. Larry grew up in Mt. Lebanon. He hung out in the park and frequently met Reverend Bill. Spence and I had hung out at that park, especially the swimming pool. His Reverend Bill could be the Bill Barker, that Spence and I knew from Bower Hill Church, and the Bill Barker who was a friend of the famous Mr. Rogers.
But Spence and I never met Larry at the park in Mt. Lebanon. Spence and I married and left Mt. Lebanon two years earlier than Larry, at age fifteen, ran away.
Larry ran because he had lived in fear and dread of the next attack from his father. But running created more hardships—finding food and finding lodging to avoid the police. Larry could have turned bitter. He didn’t. He changed himself. He discovered what his father was dealing with and reached out to become his father’s friend.
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In awe of Larry’s example, I jotted his advice on my to-do list daily.
Listen
Be Kind
However, my first experience with his admonition came years before I’d ever jotted the reminder. I taught at Ruffing Montessori in Cleveland Heights and had the privilege of briefly tutoring a sweet fifth grader. She and I spent hours bent over long division problems with two digit divisors until she stared blankly for a few seconds. Then she would say, “I’m confused. Can I start over?”
“Of course.” I resisted my urge to add, Concentrate this time. Her behavior puzzled me. She’d grasped the concepts and memorized the facts, yet she rarely finished the mechanical computations.
A month or so later, the youngster collapsed in the upper elementary bathroom. Doctors diagnosed epilepsy. Her mind had blanked and erased the calculations during those momentary stares.
Savvy Larry. I had no idea what my student was dealing with in her personal life.
At the Saegertown Library this spring, I listened to Doris, the brave one of our Pennwriters group who tackles difficult topics. Her essay ended with a poem about death and grieving. She read the lines,
Instead of sleep, emotions awaken.
A sense of loss leaves me shaken.
Memories flood into my thoughts.
Nothing replaces that absent bright spot.
I glanced across the table at Christa. She’s our cheerleader. She sits tall, smiles broadly, and offers what she likes about the piece as she bounces in her seat. This time she smiled sadly, her shoulders slumped, and her eyes glistened.
We all hope our submissions affect others, but I suspected more than Doris’s poem might be behind Christa’s moist eyes. The group offered feedback. Christa complimented the essay and poem for capturing the emotions of a grieving person. And I scribbled a note to discover why Christa reacted that way. She’d mentioned making hot chocolate with her father. He lived in a nursing home. I wondered about him.
I emailed Todd, our Area 1 Pennwriters Representative, in case Christa had mentioned news about her father to Todd at an Erie Pennwriters meeting. He replied. She told me her father died. Probably because my mother just died.
Savvy Larry. I had no idea what my friend was dealing with in her personal life.
On a trip with Spence, a younger relative made an extra effort to carve time from their busy weekend of household chores and errands for visiting me. They gave me a warm bear hug and said “Fine” when I asked, “How are you?” Though they could only stay for an hour, they stayed two and kindly answered question after question. Alas, I can't stop once I start. I learned updates about their family, job, and cat. And I savored the stories of their preferences for playing sports in sweaty temperatures which loosened their muscles rather than in chilly temperatures which cramped their muscles.
I collected three more hugs and parted with them feeling uplifted and cheery, anticipating another visit in a year or so.
I didn’t use “he” or “she” pronouns to keep my story vague because the relative never mentioned what someone else in the family told me a couple months after I returned home. My relative needs an organ transplant.
Savvy Larry. I had no idea what my relative was dealing with in their personal life.
The behavior of my student, friend, and relative keeping their personal lives private made sense. Years back, Spence and I juggled work and raising two elementary-school-aged youngsters. One had cancer. People chattering about our son’s health overwhelmed me. I hung up from challenging phone calls, curled into a ball, and wept from the overload.
Being nice to quiet, kind people is easy. Larry had dealt with his verbally and physically abusive father. I won't put myself in physical or mental danger. Not ever.
But if I meet a negative talker, I’ll remember the hippy business man, and embrace his challenge—just be nice.
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