The Getting from Giving

I know families who volunteer in their communities as regularly as they get haircuts; it's part of their routine, like brushing teeth, paying bills, or anything else that isn't pure mirth but is ultimately more appealing than the alternative.

"Service" wasn't one of my family's values growing up. My grandparents were immigrants and struggled just to take care of themselves. But the "every clan for himself" notion is too easily, and imperceptibly, handed down through generations, until some of us find we have everything we could possibly need — except for the tiniest shred of graciousness.

So when my sixth-grader piped up with his frickteenth post-holiday bellyache, I knew I had to do something momentous. Not another feckless lecture or empty threat. No guilt-eliciting "you hurt my feelings when you fail to appreciate my efforts" gripe. This had to be in-your-face, off-our-butts effective.

So I dragged him to the local homeless shelter to serve lunch to a couple hundred down-and-outers. It was new to both of us. And tremendous. For both of us.

My philanthropic friends have long known what we didn't: that giving your time, your muscle, your smile to a strapped stranger sets your soul upright. That it's less an onus than an honor.

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