Be Grateful...

Since by definition, this is my blog, therefor my soap box, I'm gonna step up on it for a bit.

Here's a story...

I don't like peanuts. For the majority of the first half of my 20's, I lived on this stuff which was basically peanut butter and grape jelly in the same jar. As a result, I just don't like peanut butter anymore. Or anything with peanuts, aside from an extremely occasional Reese's Peanut Butter Cup but--who could blame me? They're too filled with crack-like goodness for even me to turn down.

I used to have a co-worker who, while lactose intolerant (he'd get embarrassed when I ordered pizza for our department, and specially ordered him one without cheese), had a thing for chocolate. Most especially, Mr. Good Bars. At some point or another, I think he saw one of the guys bribe me with chocolate, or bring me some when I was having a bad or particularly hormonal day.

From that point on, every day he would come into the office and slide me a Mr. Good Bar, wrapped in a paper towel and taped like a gift, across the counter in front of my desk. If I wasn't at my desk, he would leave it in front of my keyboard. Now, this guy wasn't particularly outgoing or jokey in any way, and being Asian, he had that sort of aloofness and distance that is such an ingrained part of that culture. (No judgment folks, it is what it is.) So when he decided I was worthy of a daily candy bar, that meant on some level I was OK with him. And that's pretty badass.

Have you ever had a Mr. Good Bar? They're Hershey Bars. With peanuts. Remember how I feel about peanuts?

Did I ever tell him that?

Never.

Every day, I thanked him with a smile. And took the candy bar home for my son. Or sometimes I put it in my drawer. Occasionally I still finding paper towel wrapped Mr. Good Bars in my desk. And they make me smile. Because he took the time--every single day--to do something nice for me, it would have been beyond rude and ungrateful for me to say "Oh. Sorry. I don't like peanuts." And I don't operate that way.

I'm trying to teach this to my boys. I see it catching on. Every night, no matter who cooked or what they had for dinner, they say, very sweetly and in unison, "Thank you, Mommy/Daddy for making us this delicious dinner." It's a start.

Unless you live under a rock, you're aware that Friday was Valentine's Day. Yes, ok--it is an over-commercialized day to trump up what "Love" is supposed to be, but too many people buy into that. Like one day is supposed to make the difference or tell you how much your significant other loves you. Like the difference between whether they love you or not is dependent on whether they got you a mushy card as opposed to the cute and funny one.

Did they go into that store and pick out a card with you in mind? Well. If your name is on it, it would appear they did. Did they get you a mixed bouquet from the store instead of calling the florist and spending 5 times more to have it brought to you in a van? Hey. You got flowers. Someone picked out those flowers. For you. On a totally made-up day that has nothing to do with how much, deep down, people are supposed to mean to each other. You show that every day, not just because the calendar tells you its that day you're supposed to send someone flowers and get them the good chocolate. That shit feels so much better on a random day anyway, just because they thought of you that day.

So I think the moral of the story I'm getting to is this:.

Smile.

Say, "Thank you."

And know that even if you would have preferred something else, you're receiving a gift from someone who took a moment to think about you.

Take the damn candy bar, already.

And be grateful.