My Little Buddy Most people's first jobs are pretty boring and anything but glamorous. Mine fit the stereotype exactly. But I stuck with it and plugged along day after day, year after year, for three years, six months and five days, to be exact. When asked how work was going, I had my typical responses: "I hate it," "I despise it," or my favorite, "It sucks." My first job wasn't as a waitress at the local diner or a cashier at Kmart. No, my working days started early. When I was ten years old, I became a delivery girl for the local paper.
It wasn't so much the work I hated. Who can complain about taking one hour out of each day to throw papers on porches? No, it wasn't hard work; it was just lonely. I barely had interaction with any of my customers, and it made my job seem pointless, or unappreciated at the very least. I delivered through pouring rain, scorching heat, snow and, even once, a hailstorm. I went through the motions day after day. I rarely got a hello from a friendly resident of the neighborhood; at times, I wondered if there even was a friendly resident beyond those porches. After one long June day of the same boring routine, I prayed, hard. I prayed that the job would liven up. For if it didn't, I was sure I was going to die of boredom and loneliness. The next day, I raced home from school to get my paper route done so I could meet my friends later. I looked on my cover sheet and noticed two new customers. Ugghh, I thought. Just what I need today. I started my route as I would have any other day, dragging my feet and hanging my head. I came to the street of one of the new customers and searched for the house. It was the big, brick house with the SOLD sign still in the front lawn. I had walked past it many times as it stood dark and empty. It was nice to see that someone was making it a home again. On the front porch, the new owners had hung a little wooden porch swing. And on that swing sat a little boy. He was so cute! His blond hair was neatly combed to the right side, and his big blue eyes shone like they held the stars in them. At first glance, I guessed he was five. He was so adorable, and I was happy to see his smiling face looking at me. I promptly forgot that I was in a hurry to finish my paper route. As I stretched out my arm to see if he wanted the paper, he smiled and said, "Hi!" I was pleasantly surprised; in this neighborhood, even the cats didn't seem friendly. "Well, hi," I said. He scootched his little bottom off the swing and came to take the paper. As I stood there, arms still outstretched, he confidently moved toward me. He took the paper and, as if he had known me all his life, he put his arms around me in a hug and said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," in a sing-songy voice. Standing there stunned, I watched as he turned and trotted back into the house yelling, "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, the paper is here!" The rest of the route I smiled, held my head up and thought about this little boy who had just put a little happiness into my day and didn't even know it. The next day when I began my route, I had high hopes of seeing my little buddy again. As I approached the house, I scanned the porch, hoping to see him sitting on the swing... to no avail. As I reached in my bag and pulled back to launch the paper, he emerged from his house with a plate of cookies in hand. He walked over to the top step of the porch and sat. He had the same radiant smile as the day before as he patted the spot next to him. Happy that he again wanted to have interaction with me, I went over to sit on the step next to him. He handed me a cookie, took one himself and we ate. No words were spoken until we had both finished our cookies. "Thanks," I said. "Did you like it? Those are my mommy's famous chocolate chip cookies. And they are the best." "It was delicious," I said with a smile. "So, what's your name?" "I'm Andrew. And who are you?" he asked, with wonder in his voice. "Bethany. I'm Bethany." After we ate our cookie, he took the paper, hugged me and in his song-like manner said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." After that day, I did my paper route with happiness in my heart and a smile on my face. Sure, I still had my bad days, but whenever I reached his house, my frown became a smile. If he was going to be at his grandma's the next day or shopping with his mom, he was sure to let me know the day before so I would know where he was. Monday was our conversation day. Every Tuesday he brought me one of his mom's famous cookies. Every Wednesday we drank a juice together. On Thursday, it was a piece of gum. On Friday, he gave me five cents. Sometimes it was five pennies, and sometimes it was a nickel, but it was always five cents to say thanks for delivering each day of the week. On every holiday, he had a present for me, whether it was something his mom had bought for him to give or a picture he had colored himself. Without fail, he had something to present to me. My favorite gift was the one I received on Easter. It was a cross made out of Popsicle sticks that said, "Jesus loves me, this I know... and he loves you, too!" It wasn't an extravagant gift, but one that came from the heart and let me know I was appreciated. Even if he wasn't going to be there, he left my treasure on the porch swing in a box. He became my "little buddy," and I became his "big buddy." Each day he was home, he would greet me with his "Hey, big buddy!" and wait for my reply of, "Hey, little buddy!" Then he would hand me my treasure, and we would exchange a few words about how his day was going or what he was up to. I would hand over his paper, and he would hug me and say, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." It never changed. I'm sure my "little buddy" never realized what he did for me. I'm sure my "little buddy" had no idea that because of him I was able to hold my head high and smile for an hour each day, regardless of how bad the rest of the day had been. My "little buddy" taught me many things. The radiant smile that never left his face taught me how far a simple gesture can go. His presents taught me that big things really do come in small packages. And his hugs taught me that even the most insignificant jobs in life can mean something to someone. --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ Access the Recipes And More list archives at: http://www.mail-archive.com/recipesandmore%40googlegroups.com/ Visit the group home page at: http://groups.google.com/group/RecipesAndMore -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
