Please forgive me as I return to one of my favorite subjects ... and my favorite people. If you guessed kindness and my Aunt Mae, you'd be correct.
I called my Aunt Mae a few mornings ago and found that she was busy writing letters and cards, as she so often does. On that day, she was writing to a young man in prison.
"I've never met him," she said, "but I know his daddy." (In the south, fathers are referred to as "daddies" whatever their age.) "I don't know what put him (the boy) in prison but I know he's working to turn his life around."
I have never thought of writing to someone in prison. Never. I think myself good when I send a card to a friend. I realize how puny my efforts are.
Aunt Mae went on to say that she had been shopping for men's pajamas to send to a lady whose husband was bed-ridden. The list of her acts of kindness alone could fill this blog.
This I know for sure: People like my aunt fill our world, but we rarely hear of their good deeds. And that is how they want it.