INTERRACIAL VOICE

Essay

The Best Unwrapped Gift
By Lee (Leah) Swift

It seems to me that every year most people who celebrate Christmas or Hanukkah look for that ultimate gift. Around the mid 90's, I received my perfect gift.

At that time I was a Sunday School teacher and for some reason I also volunteered to be a co-director of the children's religious education department at a Unitarian church.

Every year the church merged many December holidays of different religions and celebrated them close to Christmas Day. This year was no different. We were having a holiday program which included the children I taught. They were going to sing "Jingle Bells" and "I Had a Little Dreidel." We practiced this program for a few weeks.

The night before the holiday program, I parked my car in a perfect and safe parking spot. It was right across the street from my home. In New York City, that particular spot was considered close. I considered it safe because it was close. I felt lucky that I got that perfect space.

The next morning was Sunday. It was the day of the holiday program. The crisp morning air stung my face, so I moved quickly across the street. I unlocked the car's blue door and sat down into the chilly seat. It's not very pleasant sitting in a cold car. It seems like it took forever for the heat to kick in. I placed the key into the ignition. As I turned the key, I realized something was definitely wrong. The key was too easy to turn. I didn't feel that resistance and then that connection. Those familiar green, white and blue lights did not appear on my dashboard. My eyes glared at the dashboard and my mouth dropped open.

All of a sudden I felt the adrenaline filling my stomach like lead. Oh no, this can't be happening.........not now.............not today! I turned the key back to the original position. I sank my head on my folded arms on the steering wheel. Then I sank my head backward into the headrest. I repeated the words again, No, no, this can't be happening. What's wrong with this car! While I sat back I stared through the front glass of the car. I wasn't really staring at anything. I was just thinking of my next strategy. All of a sudden my thinking became irrational.

No, no this is all a dream. Sure it's happened before. I've had a terrible dream and then I woke up. Then everything was fine. OK, I'm going to close my eyes. When I open my eyes, I will turn the key. This time, I will hear that familiar engine and all those lights on the dashboard are going to light up. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and then opened them. I thought more optimistically now. I let out a sigh. I turned the key. I knew as soon as I turned the key that I wasn't dreaming. The car engine did not turnover. I sank my head back into the headrest again.

Think......think ...........What should I do? I can't sit in this car forever. I'm losing precious time and I have to do something. I have to get to the church. Those children will be waiting for me, I have to make a decision....................I'm going to look under the hood.......Yeah, I'll look under the hood...... Sure I know where the engine, the battery and the fan belt are located. I know what opening the oil and the antifreeze go into. I know all about cars.

Well, atthis point I knew I wasn't thinking clearly because I wouldn't have made those bizarre comments to myself. I'm going to do something men do, I'm going to look under the hood and give a diagnosis of what's wrong with the car. Maybe the car just needs a jump-start, I thought.

I opened the car's door and then I walked around to the front. I opened the bulky blue hood with my gloved hands. It felt like a heavy block of cold ice. I felt like I was opening the "Door of the Unknown." I held my hands on the edge of the car and I lowered my head closer to the "internal organs" of my car. There was a Big......Black.....Hole.......inside my car......"My battery is gone! " All I saw were two metal prongs hanging loose. Those two prongs should be on my battery! My "mechanical legs" (car) are not going to work! I really wanted to cry..........At that moment, I really didn't care if someone just threw my head into that hole and slammed the hood shut. It would be much easier than facing the consequences of the day.

After I finished crying inside, I felt anger creeping into my blood. I slammed the heavy hood. The hood must have made a loud sound that must have woken up some of the late Sunday risers. My common sense must have escaped me. Again, I was thinking irrationally. I wanted to find that person that stole my battery. Didn't that person realize what he has done to me? I was trying to imagine him stealing the battery. I would also imagine that I would catch him in the act and teach him a lesson he'll never forget. All sorts of unimaginable acts of torture raced through my mind. Give him the death penalty....... No, that would be too kind, I thought. As I marched toward my home, I was thinking, "I had to live in NY. I had to park my car in that perfect parking spot across the street!"

When I finally went inside I made a phone call to the other co-director. I explained to her what had happened. She offered her sympathetic ear. I told her I didn't think there was enough time for me to get to the church. She reluctantly offered to lead the children through the songs. At the end of the short conversation I changed my mind. I told her I was going to be there even if I got there late.

I gathered my bags and started the long 30 to 40 minute walk to the church. It seemed longer because I hadn't walked much lately because I had a car. I had to leave my "mechanical legs" behind. My real legs felt rusty. Immediately as I started walking, I felt my anger melting away from my body. The frigid air blew against my warm face. As I walked, I realized that I missed a lot of my natural environment because I drove a car. All of a sudden, I felt I was in closer contact with all the diverse faces passing me by. There were no boundaries separating us. I started noticing the brown leaves and the abandoned birds nests on the bare trees.

I also noticed the pigeons. These birds were always invading our territory. They are considered in New York as "the rats with wings." But ironically they are birds just like any other bird in New York. But it's strange that Man feels he can put this bird in a certain class. He puts the pigeon at the bottom of the bird's hierarchy, but actually the pigeon is no better or worst than any other bird. This labeling doesn't stop with birds. Man also feels he has the right to categorize human beings on the similar type of ladder. It's unfortunate that any living thing should be on that ladder of life.

As I looked closely at the birds, I noticed one pigeon with no feet. The bird was actually balancing his gray massive body on two thin pink stilts. The bird had no feet but still managed to survive and attain his goals. That's amazing, I thought. Suddenly my real legs carried me faster to my destination.

I finally got to the white Tudor church. It was filled to capacity. Of course it was filled, it was the Sunday before Christmas. I saw many concerned faces. A few quietly offered their support. They also wanted to know some of the details of my unfortunate morning adventure. I received all the sympathy I needed. The other co-director I worked with was relieved to see me. I saved her from her temporary duties.

The children were finally ready to perform. They were as diverse as our neighborhood. The program was not perfect. I didn't expect it to be. One good thing about a children's concert is that the audience loves them no matter how bad they perform. It is because they look so adorable. I was glad that I decided to go to church. The best part of the day was when I got a ride home.

The next day I decided to get a new battery so my "mechanical legs" would work again. I went across the street to get something out from the car. It was still parked in the same "perfect" parking place. I walked back to the other side of the street and saw a man of Middle Eastern descent facing me.

He was an Afghan. At that time the Afghans were the new immigrants settling in my area. One of my religious friends described the strange habits and culture of these new immigrants. She tried not to appear too prejudiced. After all, she considered herself religious.

The Middle Eastern man on the other side of the street was trying to get my attention. He was small man. He had black hair and a black mustache. I could tell he was Afghani. "Lady, lady....Is that your blue car across the street?" This individual looked like his body was controlled by strings like a marionette puppet. His movements were erratic. His arms spun around his head. His words were spilling out of his mouth a hundred miles a minute.

"Yes, it is," I said. He continued "I'm so glad that I see you. You're missing your battery, right?" I must have looked perplexed at this point. "Yeah" I responded. "I saw who took it," he said. At his point there was no time to react." Then he continued his astonishing story, "I was walking to the temple. It was dark then. I saw two men park their car next to your car. I saw them opening the hood of your car. They were stealing your battery. My friend and I went over to them and told them to get away from the car and leave the battery. The two men were so scared they left the battery on the ground and drove away." What I was hearing was so unbelievable. Although I was so grateful for his heroic deed. I told him he shouldn't have risked his life for just a battery. The battery could be replaced but nothing was more precious than his life.

"I have your battery in my brother's apartment. Wait here, I'll get it for you." He scrambled up the elevator and disappeared. I leaned against the short wall of bricks. I was really in a state of shock. I was trying to absorb all the details of his story. His act of bravery was something I read only in fairy tales. These kind of things didn't happen in NY.

Suddenly, a black cloud seeped into my head. My sinister New York mind started to set in. An unfortunate thing about living in New York is that you become very distrustful towards people. You are always ready to put your defense mechanisms up so you don't encounter a con artist. "Maybe he took my battery. Maybe he was ready to con me out of my Five mansions, my 6 BMW's and all my millions." Suddenly all those evil thoughts escaped my mind. The man scurried back.

In his hands was my Ugly, Dirty, Battery! My battery was back! My mechanical legs are going to work again. I was thrilled. I felt like dancing around him. I thanked him a million times. I offered to give him a reward. He scuttled away and said "No, Lady, you don't need to do that. I don't want any."

As he moved quickly away from me, I began to wonder why he made the choices that he made. Did he realize how much danger he could have experienced? Did his Muslim faith affect his decisions? Why did he cross his safe boundaries to the boundaries of danger? He did this all for a stranger, someone he would probably never see again. I knew my questions would never be answered.

It is common in our society to view the interracial family as dysfunctional but I know I have learned from that family to respect people despite their ethnicities. I could have accepted all the prejudices around me about these new immigrants but because of my upbringing from my interracial family I learned not to prejudge any individual.

Most people expect someone close to you to show love and but it is very special when a stranger showers you with a gift of human compassion.

As I unwrapped my gifts that year I didn't think too much about what was inside those gifts. That year I received my ultimate gift. It was probably the best gift I would ever receive in my whole lifetime. It wasn't under any wrappers and it wasn't my dirty, old battery. It was a combined gift of human compassion and kindness. Today this experience still warms my heart. Although I will probably never see this brave individual again, there are two words I'd like to say to him And those two words are Thank You.

Peace to All