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Published 1/1/04 in The Post-Star newspaper Treasuring gifts that are unexpected COMMENTARY I hope you've had this happen at least once in your life: You're rolling along on what you think is your mind-numbing, daily routine of various multi-tasks when life suddenly steps into the middle of it all to impart an unexpected gift. For me it happened last week when I was at the auto mechanic to retrieve my newly repaired car. I stood at the service counter, immersed in writing a check that totaled nearly a week's pay and feeling slightly embittered at the unexpected financial hit. Therefore, I paid little attention to the man's voice behind me, announcing that he had arrived to pick up his Intrepid. Whipping off the final letters of my signature, my next plan of action was to beat a hasty path out the back door to find my car, all while maintaining a stealthy tunnel vision in order to avoid human eye contact and vacate the premises as quickly as possible. But what I saw as I turned to leave stopped me in my tracks. My brother. So chained to my inner turmoil I must have been, I didn't even recognize that the disembodied voice asking for the Intrepid was that of Jeff -- my youngest sibling. Not exactly a mind-boggling sight, just surprising, since Jeff lives out of town. And even if he didn't, what are the odds that we'd retrieve our repaired vehicles at exactly the same moment? It may seem like an innocuous encounter and, a few years ago, it would have been. Maybe it was the holidays, or the increasingly shrill news headlines since 9/11, or the sad fact that this Christmas, there would be an all-time low in attendance of family members at the dinner table, lost to death or relocation. But we both seemed to recognize that our unexpected meeting was a gift, delivered generously by some well-meaning unseen force. Call it coincidence or divine intervention or synchronicity, it meant the surprise appearance in what would otherwise be a day filled with stress and monotony, of someone dear to me. In the middle of a mechanic's lobby, with tires of all sizes stacked around us like rubber garrisons. We knew we didn't have much time -- he had to get back to Albany and finish Christmas shopping, I had a pressing appointment 25 miles south for a story. So in those 10 minutes we had, on the mechanic's back lot, drenching ourselves with conversation and winter mid-day sun, my brother and I excused ourselves from the rigors of the fast track known as everyday life. There's nothing quite like an unexpected meeting with someone you adore. Maybe because it's something that can't be planned or repeated. And I admit, I've adored Jeff from day one ... or maybe it was three. For the first few days of his life, he lay anonymous in his bassinet as my parents debated a name. One afternoon I returned from a day of first-grade classes and, as was my custom, raced into my parents' room for a visit with the newest member of our clan. Before I could make it to the bassinet, my sister, giddy with excitement, intercepted me. "Do you want to see Jeff?" I've had my share of tribulations in life, but making an enemy out of a sibling hasn't been one of them. The four of us made it through the turbulent waters of adolescence, a phase where it seemed our only purpose of existence was to hurl insults at each other. We've mellowed and matured with age and Jeff has been as much a friend to me as a brother. And I know how lucky I am. Not only is he a shoulder to lean on, he's a formidable mimic who can make me cry with laughter by delivering a Janet Reno impression. I don't see him as often as I'd like, but that was taken care of last week and we savored every minute, talking about Christmas plans and roaring with laughter over the most recent episode of "The Phil Hendrie Show." Our personal schedules might be overstuffed. And the holiday headlines that taunt threats of impending danger over Las Vegas and Times Square seem to make the world a scarier place. But it was all eradicated because of 10 special minutes last week. So here's to providence -- and a happy 2004. |