Kindness

I'd arrived early that morning filled with great hope and excitement in anticipation as to what the next two days would bring. I looked forward to meaningful conversations embodied with stories of struggle, resilience, and triumph.

As morning quietly transformed into the early afternoon with little to no patrons, the imposter syndrome was beginning to hover over me like vultures circling their prey from above. Brilliant schemes to pack up and leave early played out in my mind, even though it was against show policy. It reminded me of when my children were small, and the music instructor sternly cautioned parents not to leave until every child had performed.

My booth location couldn't have been worse. Like a punished child in timeout, it sat alone at the end of a lonely, empty aisle, far away from where the established authors were signing their books and engaging with their adoring fans. I felt lost in the cavernous ballroom.

"They'll never even know I'm here," I thought. The self-defeating talk continued in my head while doubt quietly crept in, as it so often does, to steal our dreams. What was I thinking? I'd already dropped $1200 out of pocket just for the right to be here. That guaranteed me a 10' x 10' concrete space…nothing more.

At one point, I turned around and glanced up at the small sign I received upon registration. It hung precariously by two small hooks on the royal blue drape and announced your brand to the world. Who are you? What are you representing? I knew the answers, so why was I second-guessing myself?

Then, a glimmer of hope appeared. And not just as another passerby who smiled politely in response to my "Good Morning!" invitation to engage. Standing before me was a middle-aged, Hispanic woman with kind eyes. She was a third-grade teacher accompanied by a younger woman, her daughter, a college student following in her mama's footsteps.

The mother explained that her child had been bullied all her life. It was hard to imagine. All I saw was a bright light full of promise. She reminded me of my daughter, also pursuing a career in education. Both were determined to follow their passion and find their voice.

Having raised three children, I'd heard story after story of the pain and trauma bullying caused. As a writer, being indifferent wasn't a viable option. Instead, it compelled me to take action. Thus began my journey to share the importance of kindness with children.

I'd decided to write a book. I created a special needs character, a fish named Finley. A dear friend of mine, a Paralympic gold medalist, served as the inspiration. When Finley was young, an accident caused by a fisherman's hook damaged his dorsal fin. A safety pin, similar to a prosthetic, was the only thing holding his fin in place. He was teased relentlessly, like so many children, merely because he looked different.

Upon hearing the storyline, the two women simultaneously exclaimed, "Jorge would love this book!" They said he was one of her students and proceeded to show me his picture. Along with his sweet face and bright eyes, I noticed he was missing part of his left arm and was an amputee. Like Finley, he'd been in a tragic accident at a very young age.

She then asked if the book was available in Spanish. I told her not yet. As a newly self-published author, I'd foolishly assumed all one needed to have a book translated was to alter the text. Unfortunately, it's an entirely separate work that comes with a hefty price tag, one I couldn't afford.

I asked if she'd be open to a free author visit. Her eyes opened wide as she gladly accepted my offer. I was dismayed to learn that no author had ever reached out to the school due to its undesirable location in a highly depressed, crime-ridden neighborhood.

Before leaving, she purchased a book for her classroom. I couldn't stop thinking about the little boy and gave her an autographed copy as a gift. "Please give this to Jorge," I insisted.

She smiled and said, "There's one more thing. Because of your kindness and the important work you're doing, I'd like to help support you by translating your book." She promised to deliver the entire text, in Spanish, by the close of the show. True to her word, I received an e-mailed copy of the full translation the following evening,

I've often wondered. What if I'd decided to leave early that day? I thought about how easy it is to quit or give up right before something significant is about to happen. By choosing to stay, three lives who shared a common bond to help children were intrinsically connected.

We settled on a date. I marked it with a big red heart in my small black notebook. It was a combination daily/diary planner with an expandable pocket, perfect for collecting notes filled with fleeting moments of inspiration while on the go. My lofty goal was to schedule an appointment on every page.

In advance of each presentation, I provide teachers with a form to send home if children want to purchase a book. A few days prior, I reached out to see if there were any orders. She paused. I could hear the pain in her voice. "Truth be told, I didn't have the heart to send the forms home. The families are so poor we're lucky if one student buys a book at our book fair. And when I schedule a field trip, it's to Barnes and Noble as many of the children have neither seen nor set foot in a book store."

As I listened to her story, the wheels began turning. I told her not to worry and that I would make it a memorable experience for the children. I immediately contacted two of my business associates and told them exactly how much I needed to gift all eighty-six students with a book. They loved the idea and were happy to help.

It was important to me that every book be autographed and personalized. I wanted it to be a surprise but needed a creative way to obtain the children's names. I asked if I could decorate name badges for each child. She agreed.

Bursting with excitement, I found it impossible to keep a secret. It's the feeling you get as a parent when you've found that one gift your child wants more than anything in the world, and the wait for Christmas morning becomes unbearable. I decided to share the news with her. She was at a loss for words. It was a moment I'll never forget.

As an author, I'm both humbled and honored to speak with children about the importance of kindness. While we're all different, we share something in common: we are all born with a perfect, pure heart.

Visuals speak louder than words, so I show the children a picture of a large, red heart on a smooth piece of paper. I then describe three short examples of a bullying situation. After each instance, I crumple up the paper and open it up again. The once smooth heart is now full of creases. I refer to them as hurt lines.

"Is the heart the same?" I ask. "No, it's broken!" they answer in unison. I explain, "It's certainly not the same as it was a few moments ago. When you're unkind to someone, you put a hurt line on their heart, and your name goes on it. But when you say you're sorry and promise to choose kindness the next time, your name disappears, and the hurt line becomes a happy, healthy heart line again!" It's a simple yet powerful exercise with a message the children understand.

The day finally arrived. The morning air was crisp as golden rays of sunlight were starting to break through the clouds on the horizon. As I drew closer, I began to feel the weight of a city suffering from long-term neglect. Passing the police station on the left, I could see the school off in the distance. My stomach tumbled like an Olympic gymnast, as it often did before every presentation.

The heaviness in the air magically dissipated as I was greeted with a warm hug by my dear friend, who swiftly directed me to the library. She'd spent days involving the children in preparation for their very first author visit. There were so many personal touches it warmed my heart. I truly felt like royalty.

As we entered the library, I couldn't believe my eyes. Prominently displayed on the center bookcase for all to see was a giant handmade poster board, a painted replica of my book cover! At the top were large golden letters spelling out the word WELCOME.

She then took me by the hand and led me beyond the bookcase. There, as if I were attending the Mad Hatter's tea party, was a small, child-size table surrounded by little chairs equally spaced apart. In the middle of the table sat a tray of treats and two small water bottles. A wave of gratitude washed over me as I could barely choke out the words, "Thank you."

To my joy and surprise, her daughter had arrived to help. The children squealed with delight upon discovering they were each receiving not only a book but a brand new book, with their name and a special message inside.

The hugs I received that day were confirmation that I had found my destiny. During pictures, one little girl nestled in close to me and whispered in my ear, "Thank you for writing this book." Then, a little boy slowly approached me. It was Jorge. He was quiet and reserved. When I bent down to gaze into his eyes, he smiled and gave me a hug.

As I was leaving, my friend shared that she and her daughter were also working on a children's book. They were so inspired by how the students responded to my story it gave them the motivation to finish theirs.

They say it is the giver of the gift, not the recipient, who is truly blessed. This visit was a gift that kept on giving. One week later, I received the most beautiful binder of handwritten thank-you letters and drawings from the students.

Jorge's letter was first. He wrote:

"Thank you for redding the book and coming. I mostli thank you for giving me the book. The part I liked is when Cisco and Camy helped Finley when he was in truble." [sic]

A few years passed. My friend continued teaching and went on to publish her book. I published two more children's books and had just founded a non-profit supporting literacy for both children and adults in underserved communities.

Not long after, I received a certified letter from Jorge's mother. She wrote:

"At the time you met Jorge, I didn't know how to speak or read English but have since learned. I had to write to thank you. He'd been struggling with feeling different. When he brought home your book with the Spanish translation, it allowed me to read it with him. The story enabled him to express what he felt and allowed me to help him through a very challenging time. My husband died last year, and I was no longer able to manage our farm on my own. It has recently sold. I understand you have a new foundation and are looking to have your children's books published in other languages. Please accept this check for $20,000 to assist you in your efforts. There are many Jorges in this world that need to know they are not alone."

I keep her letter in the pocket of my little black book and carry it with me. It's a reminder that no matter what language we speak, kindness will always be the universal language that binds us together, helping us to heal.