It has been my experience that giving is a family value. We were taught by my great-grandfather Levi that when grilling meat, it is customary to leave a piece on the grill for those who wander down the creek. We were never taught to be afraid of these folks but to give to them as they passed by. This was just his way. Great-Grandpa Levi owned the Big Steer Bar. He rarely made money because he allowed patrons who were down on their luck to drink now and pay later. A bad business model.
His grandson, Uncle Jeff, followed suit and brought home for the holidays every down-on-their-luck person he could find. As kids, we spent many Christmas nights sleeping under the dining room table at my grandma’s house to make room for a person or family that my uncle brought home. One Thanksgiving (or was it Christmas?), he brought home a middle-aged couple in a 1970-something Buick. She was wearing a rust-colored velour jumpsuit with a zipper clear up to her neck. He was chain smoking and drinking everything in sight. They were polite and gracious. They poured affection all over my grandma (much to her chagrin) and called her by the wrong name. This, of course, was a source of laughter for us kids. After a long day of dodging and weaving this overly friendly couple, we watched as they staggered out to their Buick and passed out. In the morning they were gone. Years later, after revisiting the experience with my uncle, he revealed that he didn’t know them at all. They were a homeless couple he had found somewhere in Tucson, and he thought they needed a good meal.
My dad was also known to give the shirt off his back to whoever needed it. Zach’s favorite Danny Quiroga memory was when we were first married. The whole family went to Rocky Point for Thanksgiving. As always, my mother spent the week leading up to the trip cooking and packing up food for us, food she planned on the family eating.
My dad saw it differently. As we were unloading the trucks at our rented condo, a group of kids wandered up to my dad and Zach. My dad was having a back-and-forth conversation with these kids in Spanish when suddenly he flung open the ice chests and began handing out all the food that my mother had prepared. My mother watched and was understandably frustrated. Words were exchanged. My dad shrugged it off and matter-of-factly said, “They needed it.”
One holiday I invited a strict vegetarian to my ranching, meat-eating family’s house. She was awkward and refused to give her last name to my uncle. She stood in the kitchen watching as the food was prepared.
My sister, who was in charge of the mashed potatoes, cut herself while trying to slice frozen butter into the pot. Naturally, the potatoes were dotted with her blood. Everyone in the kitchen was fretting as to what to do about the now bloody potatoes—one of the very few things my vegetarian friend could eat.
This was not a problem to my great-grandma who wandered over and said, “just scoop the blood off the top, we’re all family.” The look of horror on my friend’s face said it all. What made it worse is that I had to leave her there while I took my sister to the hospital to get stitched up. I still don’t know what happened after we left but remember her saying ‘no thanks’ to the next invitation.
I miss when it was easier to ask a stranger to dinner. Or to trust that lonely couple who live in their Buick to spend the night at your mother’s house on Christmas. I miss when it was okay to leave food and water out for migrants. As a alumna of Triumph Lutheran Sunday School, one Bible verse has always resonated with me. It goes a little like this: “As you did it to one of the least of my brothers, you did it to me.” And then I think the sheep inherited the Earth and rightfully so.
Don’t let kindness and love go out of style. Give.
Cassina Farley can be contacted at cassinaandzachfarley@msn.com