That sounds so simple, doesn't it? Hey, life is just give and take! I think I was about ten years old when I first heard that life was just a "give and take" situation. It meant as much to me then as "You can lead a horse to water, but chickens don't have lips", or something like that! Unfortunately, life doesn't come with an instruction manual to help you understand what each of these little phrases mean. A kid can get pretty confused just hanging around someone who's trying to pass on a little wisdom.

To some people, I'm sure, it means "Life gives very little, so you have to take as much as you can". To others it could mean that "If you give only a little to life, life will only give a little back". Can you imagine how frustrating it was for a kid who always asked questions, not to have a clear definition for such a simple phrase.

When I was very young, I had a misconception about "give and take". To me, "give" was something you did when you had more than the next guy, and "take" was something you did when you had nothing at all.

To a lot of inner city kids this was pretty clear. It was also clear that no one was going to give you anything. You had to go out and take what you can from life. By the time I was fifteen, I learned one good meaning of Give and Take. "We must give all that we can and take only what we need." One of the most misunderstood concepts is the difference between what we need and what we want. As a boy, I was one of five children in a very loving and happy family environment. We didn't know poverty because my mother refused to admit that we were dirt poor and my father was too proud to ever ask anyone for help. He made it clear to all of us that he would provide all that we would ever need in life. But, all that we would ever want we would have to attain on our own.

My father came from a generation of soothsayers who thought they were really passing on the wisdom, but most of the time they were confusing us. But this little ditty was as clear as it could ever be. He would provide everything that we would ever NEED and we had to work for what ever we would ever WANT.

Understanding this difference has meant so much to me, I have passed on the same philosophy to my three daughters. I have promised to always be there to provide their needs and they are responsible for their wants. They each have such a strong work ethic as a result of this, they have all that they need and much of what they want, too.

As a kid, I understood the difference, but learning the lesson was a bit painful. If I had asked for a bicycle because all the other kids had one and I wanted one too, you could be sure that I didn't get one. But, when I needed a car to get back and forth to high school, that shiny new bike was there to greet me. Transportation was what I NEEDED, if I WANTED a car I had to work for it.

In our family basic needs were simple. In fact, they were down right prehistoric. Warmth in the cold, food when we are hungry, water when we are thirsty, clothes to cover us and a roof over our head in a storm. Everything else was frivolous want!

I'm exaggerating of course, we didn't have to fetch our own water. I often thought that if everyone had exactly what they needed and nothing more, we could all be happy, because there wouldn't be anything to want. Most of the time we only want what other people have anyway. If all of the other people only had what they needed, we wouldn't have envy or jealousy.

Instead, civilization and changes in society has placed such an importance in material things that many people misunderstand the difference between needs and wants. For a while, I was very caught up in wanting. Seeing what others had and what I didn't have was an easy way to fall into that trap. Not that everyone around me had so much more. It just seemed that I had so much less.

When I finally realized that life was a give and take situation it all became very clear. I remember a story my father told about the Goldberg Tobacco Co. in Chicago. The proprietor was Sid Goldberg. Before the great depression, Sid Goldberg built a thriving tobacco distributing business headquartered in Chicago. He supplied over a thousand tobacco shops throughout the Midwest. Mr. Goldberg was a wealthy man, and rightfully so. He had trucks that delivered cigarettes, cigars, tobacco, pipes, rolling papers and other sundry items to the predecessor of todays Walgreen stores...the corner tobacco, soda and drug store.

Mr. Goldberg was also someone who understood the concept of life as Give and Take. When the depression came thousands of small businessmen saw their life's work go down the drain. Many of them had no idea what to do in such a crisis. Lines of hungry people formed at every soup kitchen in the country. The majority of the working class was in great need. But, Sid Goldberg had a thought. He contacted each of his customers and told them that it would take nearly a thousand dollars a week (a lot of money in those days) to keep his business open and to continue the supply of tobacco coming to their stores.

This was all he needed (Needed) to survive during the crisis. It meant living by a somewhat lower standard than he was used to, but is also meant survival. He pledged to each of his 1000 customers to supply them with as much product as they needed... at cost, plus $1 dollar per week, until times turned around. Goldberg was used to a comfortable profit of over $2000 per day. It took this one man to recognize that if he tried to get what he wanted, it would have put 80% of his customers out of business.

Instead he only asked for what he needed. In turn, each store was able to receive products at the discounted price of cost, plus $1 dollar. Each store was able to lower their prices to a reasonable level, and remain open and in business during the hardest times this country has ever seen.

Not one of Goldberg's customers went out of business during the depression. Goldberg lived like a king on a thousand dollars a week, while most other businessmen begged for toast and coffee.

Today Goldberg Tobacco is still a thriving business and a testament to the understanding that we should give what we can and only take what we need. Our hard work will pay off in many ways. One of them will be the ability to eventually have what we want. I think I had just tried to convince my father that I really deserved something when he told me that story. Since then, I have had a much better understanding of needs. There is another side to the story of give and take. It has to do with our capacity to give. As a young man, growing up, I was convinced that those who "have" can give and those who "have not" will usually take or receive. This was a concept that was easy to follow when your environment was such that mine was. The thought of making a contribution to a worthy cause was never a consideration.

"Charity begins at home" was another favorite expression in my family. Any time we made a request for a donation for the church, school or even the poor children in Europe, we were reverently reminded that Charity begins at Home. Later, as I confirmed the meaning of everything my parents ever said to me, I discovered that it was the "lesson of charity" that begins in the home. And my home was a perfect place to learn. Parental pride would not permit mom or dad to say "we don't have it to give." So, we got a lesson instead. Some people give because they seek the joy it brings when they see a person in need receiving a gift from the heart. Some give because they are moved by the pain that others endure and they seek the satisfaction of helping another human being. Both of these reasons are good reasons for giving, and I would think that thousands of people would find it fulfilling to be in either of the two positions, but I always thought that it was too easy to separate the have's from the have not's and say that one group would be givers and the other receivers.

One of the most difficult times of the year for me to deal with giving and receiving is Christmas. I can't really put my finger on when it started to affect me, but throughout my entire adult life it has been a time of serious depression and gloom. I have read that a Christmas depression syndrome affects millions of adult each year. Some worse than others, and for a while I had it real bad.

It is said that something from our childhood causes the depression and as long as we put off dealing with it, we will suffer the pains of the Christmas scowl. As a child, each Christmas was spent at my grandmothers house. The entire family gathered for two or three days of games, food and fun. My memories are very clear of the fun and frolic that we all enjoyed each year. I had many cousins and we never were at a loss for self entertainment. The adults played card games, the kids ran around and the food never stopped coming. In one respect it was the most joyous time of my life. Yet as hard as I try, I can not forget one simple event that I am convinced is the cause of the strange feelings that begin to take over as Christmas draws nearer.

I was nine or ten years old. My grandmother's house was filled with family and friends and the Christmas tree was bursting with brightly wrapped gifts. The nervous tension building among the children was clear entertainment for the adults who had brought their children's gifts from home to be placed under grandma's tree to be opened on Christmas eve, following midnight Mass, a family tradition for what seemed like centuries.

When the time came to open the presents, my grandmother sat in a large overstuffed chair and handed out the gifts, one at a time to each of the children in attendance. This took nearly an hour as wide eyes and attentive ears waited for their name to be called. It is very hard to describe the feeling, yet each year I relive the pain of waiting for a gift that would never come. There were no presents under the tree for me, nor for my three sisters or my brother. My parents had decided to leave our presents at home for us to open on Christmas day, when we returned from the family gathering. In retrospect, I would have done the same. But a kid thinks differently.

Knowing that there were no gifts for the five of us, my grandmother did her best to accommodate. She wrapped up a few combs that she took from her dressing table and some dainty handkerchiefs from her dresser drawer and after all the gifts were distributed, we were handed ours. I was devastated! As a nine year old, I could not understand why all the other children had multiple gifts and I had a comb.

For years I thought my grandmother was the villain. It wasn't until I was an adult, and after my grandmother had passe away, that I realized how hard she tried to accommodate us that single Christmas day. As an adult, my memories of the events that surrounded this wonderful family occasion are filled with joy, yet the memory of one single moment in time draws such pain it can not be described.

Getting in touch with such abnormal feelings during a time when everyone around me is so happy and cheerful is quite a delicate task. It generally starts when the first holiday decorations start to show up and begins to build as the Christmas music begins to play. It doesn't really manifest itself until I begin to see wrapped Christmas presents, or if I am forced to walk through a retail store, as people are shopping for gifts. The strangest feeling begins to well up inside me. I get very sluggish and somewhat introverted. For me to say that I get introverted is like saying that oil turns to water. While most of my friends and associates are excited about the coming holiday, I tend to ignore the festivities and opt to become more involved in my work and a uneasy melancholy sets in. Yes! You're beginning to get the picture...it's the Italian version of Ebeneeser Scrooge, except with one very important difference. I have such an overwhelming feeling of love for everyone around me, and I fight to find the means to express it. Sometimes I insist on buying only for myself and overdo it to a ridiculous extreme. Other times, I go into a burst of gift giving that appears to be as insane as Mr. Scrooge's Christmas morning, as I buy a whole bunch of presents for strangers. It all goes away very quickly! Usually right after the turn of the new year. Each year I try harder and harder to deal with the feelings and each year I notice an improvement. In fact, just putting it into words has helped a great deal. (by the way, as I sit here pounding away at my typewriter, it is December 13, 1990)

The hardest part of this so called syndrome is the battle that goes on inside your mind. On one hand you want to buy the whole world a present and on the other, you can't bring yourself to give or receive even the slightest gift during Christmas.

It wasn't until I found myself in the lowest ebb of my adult life that I discovered the truest form of giving. I was "between careers" as they would say and my young family was not aware of the circumstances or the difficulties that I was having in securing enough money to cover even the rent and the electric bill.

Grocery money was running low and we were about two weeks from hitting bottom. It was December and I was due for my annual metamorphosis. I was driving through lower Wacker Drive, in Chicago, on my way to a customer call. I was selling office supplies. It was a great industry, but not the most promising future for one as volatile as I was. I had parked my car against the wall in a dark corner near the lower entrance to the Morton Salt Building. It was about a half a block walk to the elevator that would take me to daylight and a visit with my customer.

As I was nearing the entrance, I caught the glimpse of something moving in the shadows of the large garbage disposal bins that were lined up outside the kitchen exit of the Salt Cellar, a restaurant in the building I was visiting. At first I thought it was a rat. It wasn't uncommon to see one of the "big fellows" that had become famous along the river front of Chicago's Emerald City.

As he began to move closer to the light, I could make out the form of a man. It was not the form that I would expect of any ordinary man. No, this man was very different from any that I had ever encountered. His hair was long and gray. His clothes appeared to be the same color as his hair. In fact, he really had no color contrast at all. I can only describe him as being gray, from head to toe. He was quietly and selectively picking and choosing from each of the three garbage bins along the dark, damp wall.

I can't explain what came over me. It was the first time I had ever felt this strongly about another human being, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him. As I slowly moved closer, I could see that what I had mistaken for the color gray was not gray at all. It was the dirt and soil of years of vagrancy. He was a homeless vagabond, covered from his long knotted hair to his filthy bare feet, with the same color that covered the walls, ceilings and streets of this well traveled short-cut, below the wealth and vibrancy of one of the richest cities in the country.

I must have gotten too close, for as soon as he saw me he swiftly darted into a dark corner and vanished from sight. Giving was the furthest from my mind. I was in no position to give. I had learned, I thought, that giving was for those who had more than enough for themselves, or for those seeking joy or relief from the guilt of another's pain. I had no guilt. I didn't put this man here. He wasn't my responsibility.

I was in no position to start thinking about charity, especially since I had my own needs to worry about. "Charity begins at home", I told myself. "Remember what Mamma used to say", I mumbled under my breath. Then, for a reason I could not explain, I went to my car and drove straight home. When I arrived, I looked at my three daughters and my wife. They were surprised to see me home so early. It was cold and they were all wearing warm sweaters to keep warm. I learned that trick from my mother, too. They didn't know that we turned the heat down to save money. When we were kids, it was fun to dress up like we were going outside...and play in the living room. I stared at them for about two minutes before beginning one of the strangest acts I had ever performed.

I grabbed three shopping bags and began filling them with food from our already bare pantry. Into two bags I packed a jar of peanut butter, a box of crackers, four rolls of toilet paper, shaving cream, a safety razor and a pack of blades, a pair of scissors, a loaf of bread, six or seven cans of Campbell's soup, a can opener, a pocket knife, three bars of soap, shampoo, all of the luncheon meat in the house, a canned ham that we were planning to cook that weekend, salt, pepper, jelly, two pie tins, a coffee cup, a jar of Folgers instant coffee and a box of tea bags.

In the third bag I stuffed a pair of my insulated boots, three pair of warm wool socks, three pair of underwear, a pair of long underwear, tee shirts, wool shirts, two wash cloths, two bath towels, a heavy wool jacket, a scarf, a hat, trousers and a blanket.

As I was running around the house, gathering up my loot, I was trying to explain to my wife why I was acting so crazy. The kids were getting a kick out of the whole affair. They thought I was playing a game, sort of like unpacking the groceries, only in reverse.

As I started toward the door for my return trip downtown I grabbed a box of matches, some lighter fluid and a carton of cigarettes that my wife had just bought for herself. My rationale was to collect everything a person would need to camp out for a couple days.

I was still in a stupor as I entered lower Wacker. I killed the lights and drove very slowly toward the Salt Cellar door, hoping to see him again. This time I parked on the other side of the street. I got out of the car and placed the three bags on the median strip near the spot where I had first seen him and I sat there and waited for him to show himself. As I sat hunched over, so as not to be seen, I began to think "what the hell am I doing?" It was then that it became so clear to me. Giving is so much more than I had ever thought it was. But the timing of giving is the most important part of all.

"Charity begins at home" had a whole new meaning to me, as I waited for this creepy little man to bounce from the shadows. I found out that giving when you have enough to give can certainly bring joy, and giving when you have so much more than others can make one feel very fulfilled, but to give when you really feel you are in need, without ever expecting either joy or reward, brings on a whole new feeling inside. You become richer in more ways than one.

The little man showed himself. First he stood near the bags, looking curiously tempted by their contents. Then, when he was sure that they belonged to no one but himself, he grabbed them and disappeared into the darkness. For about ten minutes, I could hear him laughing and talking to himself. I wondered if he would find my selections acceptable. Then, as he stepped onto the median strip where I had placed the three bags, he did something that I would never expect to see from one in so much need.

He had opened one of the packs of cigarettes and had lit up. He was dancing and hollering, as if he had won a lottery. As the cars sped by, he flicked his ashes at them in bold disrespect. He smoked for about a minute and when he looked to be as content as possible he threw down his smoke and crushed it with his newly shod foot and shouted "no more butts for me".

I felt more than joy. I felt rich. I felt confident. I felt like nothing could ever stand in the way of my success. Most of all, I felt as though I was on the receiving end that day. I had received the gift of giving and had learned to give when you need the most.

Several weeks after my episode with the little gray man, I was visiting the Morton Salt Building again. I was backing up when I was startled by a man standing very close to my side window. I turned to see a clean shaven man of about forty, wearing my jacket hat and scarf.

"Was it charity", he asked, not waiting for an answer. "I don't accept charity". "No, it wasn't charity", I responded, intimidated by his closeness. "It was something that I had to do for myself". "Did it work", he asked after a brief silence. "Yes, it did", I said with sincerity.

He looked at me with a cold stare that gradually softened to a gentle smile and said, "Glad I could help". He lit up a cigarette, pulled his collar up over his ears and danced across the street. I never saw him again, but I will never forget the gift he gave me. That year, I was passed over by the ghost of Christmas past. Sometimes, I believe I actually met him in person.

My early questions about giving were answered in so many ways, but this was the best lesson I could have ever learned. It taught me that everything you will ever need is inside you. It is your understanding that to give it away is to have it return a thousand fold. Don't get me wrong. I want a lot of things. I like stuff and I continue to suffer from the Christmas depression syndrome.

But there is a fine line to be drawn between our focus of those things that we need and the ones that we want. My focus is on the simpler of the two, and because of it I am able to have some of the things that I want, as well. If you spend your life searching for ways to get what you want, you may miss out on all of the things that you need. To quote the great philosopher, Mick Jagger, "You can't always get what you want.....but, if you try sometime, you might find.....you get what you need". If you knew me when I was nine years old, one thing I really needed was a comb! I'm working on it.------------------------

To continue, go to Chapter Two or return toCONTENTS PAGE