At times, “blessing others” through monetary generosity can do more harm than good. When I was about 14 –years-old, I left home (ran away sounds so dramatic) to see what the real world lived like. I packed my backpack, strapped my pellet gun to it and hopped on a bus to Tuxpan, Veracruz on the gulf coast of Mexico. I arrived in the evening and met some friends in the Zócalo or town square just as I was wondering what the hell I was going to do for the night, and they invited me to stay at their place. We walked for miles to the outskirts of town, paid a few centavos each and climbed on a pickup truck which took us into the hills a few more miles. Then we walked over cow paths to the house …hut. It was late and I was tired, so I slept in my sleeping bag on the dirt floor that night with some chickens and a couple of pigs. In the morning I met the rest of the family – all 8 of them, and I was better able to survey my surroundings.
The Gomez family lived in a shack made of stick walls with mud used to fill the cracks; it had a corrugated tin roof with a main room, a kitchen and one bedroom. The bathroom facilities consisted of a hole with a semblance of a structure around it with a sheet for a door. There was no running water so it had to be brought from the well about 300 yards away. The Gomez family lived on a large piece of property (about 20 acres) that had been in the family for generations; the oldest married son lived in his own shack about 100 yards away. The rest of us – Doña Carmen (mom), Don Roberto (dad), Luz Maria (17), Raul (15), Beto (14), Freddy (11), Carmelita (6) and myself – lived in the hut I just described. Now, in spite of the extreme poverty, they were a very happy family. Don Beto made a living by renting a truck from a friend and using it to transport cattle for the nearby ranchers and the auction yard. He would use the money he made to pay the rent on the truck and the rest was his to take home. Doña Carmen had her hands full with chores around the house and preparing meals. The boys and I were in charge of milking the cows, and getting the cows and horses down to the pasture for the day (where we had to watch them so they weren’t stolen). Meals were very simple, but the Gomez family always made sure I ate enough. Apparently, it gave Doña Carmen a huge thrill to see me eat her cooking.
After the first week I started asking where LuzMa was or Beto, or whoever was missing when we ate and I finally found out that they were all taking turns not eating so I could eat at every meal. Needless to say, once I learned that, we all took a rotation and I spent a lot more time hunting for food in the jungle. We ate some weird things those days – even for them – but if I shot a couple of parrots we had parrot and rice, if I happened to sneak over to the next village and shoot a chicken, we had chicken and rice. We had feasts of martin, armadillo, iguana and we raised our own chickens, geese and cattle and we all helped in the garden so most of the meals were pretty conventional.
Don Roberto was a handsome easygoing guy, never in a hurry. One day he told me to come with him into town, so we made the trek. On the way, I asked where we were going and he said “you know that plot of land over on the second hill with the big Mango on it”? “Yes” I replied – I had mentioned several times how much I enjoyed sitting under the mango tree and just looking out over the grassy hills and watching life ease by. “Well, it’s going to be yours,” Don Beto said. “You are family to us, and no matter what happens in your life, you will always have a little piece of property you can build a house on and raise a garden and some critters on.” He explained that were going to the Notary office to have it put in my name and he would be the trustee until I turned 18. He also told me that his children would get the rest of the land and he was sorry he couldn’t give me more, but this way he knew that I would always have a place to live. Now to put things in perspective, my allowance back home was more than he made in a week. I had more clothes in my closet than they all had put together and this man was taking me to have part of his inheritance put in my name so I would always have a place to call my own. To say I was blown away is a gross understatement. We got all the paperwork done and he paid his earnings of the day to the notary and it was official. I was now a landowner and part of the Gomez family. In all, it was a wonderful, happy time. The only way I knew we were poor was because I had a different background to compare it to, but we had a lot of good times.
One day Don Roberto and I were walking to the far pasture and we cut through an orange grove. The trees were in bloom and the sight and smell were just incredible. Don Roberto sat down and said: “Here, sit down. These blossoms are only here for a few days and if we get too busy we will miss them. Today we are going to enjoy them before we go get the horses.” So we sat for what to a 14-year-old seemed like forever, but I must admit, I enjoyed every moment of that pit stop. It wasn’t until much later that I realized Don Roberto was teaching me to slow down and smell the flowers. At the time I thought his priorities were messed up, but later I realized he had them just right.
I would go into town and call home every few days and update my family on what I was doing and before long my whole family came out to Tuxpan to spend some time with this wonderful, generous family. I returned home after a few more weeks and over the next few years we developed a close relationship with the Gomez family.
My father is a generous man and his philanthropic undertakings have been a boon to many communities in Mexico. I learned later that after meeting this great family that so generously took me in as one of their own, my dad purchased a great big new Dodge truck with a bed rigged for hauling cattle and gave it to Don Roberto. Now I was impressed with my dad; his gift was in monetary terms more than Don Roberto would ever see in a lifetime. But I was glad that dad was so generous and willing to “bless” the Gomez family that way. Now Don Roberto wouldn’t have to rent from his “friend” that dilapidated hunk of junk for such an unfair amount. Now Don Roberto could really get a business going with the auction yard and the local ranchers. They were set, and dad had shared his wealth to “bless” the life of this wonderful family.
However, this fairy tale has a different ending. About six months later, I heard that one of my dad’s employees had gone to Tuxpan to deliver a truck. I asked him why he took a truck to Tuxpan and he told me Don Roberto had been in an accident and rolled the truck so they had it taken on a flatbed to Mexico City to be repaired and Jorge had just returned it to Tuxpan. I didn’t think much of it until about five months later when I heard that Don Roberto had been involved in another accident and the truck was totaled. This time, dad was not willing to fix it. I was a bit upset with my dad at first, and then I learned that Don Roberto on both occasions had been drunk and in the company of several prostitutes. The sudden wealth had gone to his head. He was seen as a very rich person in the area because he not only had a truck, but a brand new one. Suddenly women wanted to ride with him as well as other things. To make a tragic story short, the once happy, united family came apart like a rotten burlap bag. Don Roberto left his family and things went downhill from there.
In this case the truck was a band-aid. The Gomez family didn’t need a truck. In this case there really wasn’t a cancer, just humble living conditions that we would judge as poverty. If the band-aid gives the person a false sense of wellness, then the band-aid itself can cause the cancer and if the cancer under the band-aid kills the person, what good was the band-aid?
Now this doesn’t excuse anyone from the responsibility of his or her choices nor does it imply total responsibility of the person applying the band-aid. It merely illustrates how blessing the life of others through money isn’t necessarily a blessing. On the other hand, being who you are and giving of yourself, your talents, time, love, and concern will always be a positive contribution or blessing. Truly living in Barbequia is just that – a positive contribution to others by being who you are and sharing that with pleasure.
I have a friend who is a very talented stylist who commands a lot more than I have ever paid for a haircut. He knows that we would not ordinarily visit his salon, but every few weeks he will call and say “Heather and I would love to have you over for dinner this week and you are probably ready for a trim. What day works for you?” I go over and enjoy a great dinner with my friends and get a haircut. Invariably I would let them know how much I appreciate it and invariably they would express what a pleasure it is to do it for me.
A fashion conscious person could have taken pity on my lack of style and given me 40 dollars and said “Here, I would like you to go get a cut and style”, which would be a very nice gift and, while a bit awkward, it would be appreciated. However, the difference is huge between the two scenarios. In the first case, Keith and Heather (who prepared dinner) shared a part of them with me, so I was not only the recipient of a cut and style, but also of a part of who they are through what they do. The positive influence or blessing to me is much more than the gift of dinner and a cut and style – It is the friendship, love and pleasure that they share that energizes the gift to the level of blessing lives vs. a mere gift.
In the story of the Gomez family and the truck, while the gift was incredible, it was just a gift. Had my father chosen to share who he is through love and friendship rather than the easier route appealing to the ego, things may have turned out differently. Maybe Don Roberto could have seen the struggles and challenges Dad faced with his family because of the time he spent at his job. He may have learned how wealth requires a very high level of responsibility, and maybe a bit about the entrepreneurial thought process as well as a plethora of virtues, strengths and weaknesses that dad could have shared with him. Maybe my father could have avoided one or all of his multiple bypass surgeries had he learned from Don Roberto how to stop and smell the orange blossoms or maybe he could have seen how happy they were in spite of the fact that they had very little in terms of monetary value. I wonder if Dad would have noticed how Roberto interacted with his kids and how many things they did together as a family.
While this is all mere speculation and could well be filed in file 13 as “coulda shoulda”, I think it illustrates how blessing the lives of others through our wealth is far less effective than doing so by sharing who we are with them. In the Barbequian scenario, both parties win as both participate in the sharing, as it is inevitably mutual if we are open to the fact that everyone has something to teach us as well as something to learn from us.
Going back to the great people in history, they all shared their philosophy to bless others, not their money. They share their understanding and enlightenment by example and teaching.