Sistah Shoop leaned forward. Her
eyes rolled up into the top of her head. There were no words in which
to describe the pleasure she received from the hand scratching her
back. It was a spot which simply could not be reached by her hand.
She thought it was the little
things in life that made the difference. If people added them up they’d
see how large the random acts of kindness pile would become. She wanted
to believe the great pyramids of Gaza would be dwarfed.
A dilemma Shoop felt. Of course
she knew she would thank the woman giving her the scratch. But what
other things did people give her, do for her and say nothing about. Did
she thank them every time? Or is it yet another level of respect lost
to modern society?
She wondered when the line between
entitlement and thanks started to blur. That’s what it was she thought,
just like the fine line between acting cool and being an idiot, both
cyclical in peoples’ lives. The hand moved to another area of her
back. Shoop sighed in relief, its value: priceless.
Sistah Shoop knew she did things
for people and it wasn’t about receiving praise, payment or the basic
thank you. It was more about doing because it gave her pleasure. She
couldn’t even remember if she’d received responses for the things she
did and really, she didn’t care. This was about her behavior on the
flip side and making sure she wasn’t sitting back and freely lounging in
someone else’s chair of effort. She would dislike knowing she had taken
advantage of another’s appreciation.
Despite it all, Shoop knew the
world of acknowledgement required that one pay attention beyond their
world. There were many – many little things that deserved
How many times should someone utter
thank-you in their life? Sistah Shoop felt there was no upper limit or
any action so small it should go without one. Appreciating others was
certainly a way of appreciating oneself. She felt good as the hand on
her back stopped scratching. Shoop turned around and smiled at the
woman behind her. Thank you, she said.