Oct. 18, 2009 The Kindness of Strangers
by Jesse Jang

I was a malicious little boy.

I would shake my fist at strangers as they passed and scowl, even while my caring mother held on to my other hand. I wanted them to know that I did not approve.

One day we were at a restaurant, seated in one of those booths. If I stood up on my tiptoes on the seat, I could just be tall enough to rear my little head and see the booth behind us. I shook my fist and scowled at the strange man sitting there, and then disappeared back into my seat before he had time to react. This I repeated several times.

But when I did this for the fourth or fifth time, he was ready for me. As soon as my little head poked up over the booth’s horizon, he shook his fist at me. He wasn’t scowling though, he was smiling. I sat back down instantly, wide-eyed, and quietly finished my meal. I didn’t stand up again.

I don’t remember how old I was, or what restaurant it had been. I don’t remember what food was served, or how much younger my parents looked, how much fuller their hair. All I remember is that strange man, shaking his fist and smiling. And my terror, that someone had responded to my malice with kindness.

I have very few childhood memories that are quite as vivid as that moment. As for the strange man, he probably forgot about the incident years ago. But he’s still out there somewhere, unaware that he may very well have changed the way I grew up, or changed the way I look at things, or changed who knows what else, because that memory has stayed with me.

If people are the sum of their actions, and actions are the sum of their consequences, then people are the consequences their actions produce, and the change they make to the world. But we, like that strange man, have no idea just how much every little thing we do might affect others. So maybe it’s okay to not know who we are. Maybe it’s okay for malicious little boys to grow up into men content with being lost, in a world where a shaking fist is the kindness of strangers.