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Valerie Danner, Copy Editor
It’s all about the little things
To this day, I owe a little nod to my high school freshman gym teacher, Mr. Harrington. Yes, everyday as we lined up along the putrid gym walls for attendance in our gold and navy uniforms, he would come to me more often than not and preach to me: “Hey, Danner…don’t you know it takes more muscles to smile than it does to frown?”
Bah. I remember wishing I could have enough guts to ask him just how many muscles it would take if I slapped him upside his head. But of all the jumble that sifted through my ears in high school, that sticks out the most.
The thought of the “smile lecture” was one of the thoughts I had while I was sitting at the memorial service that was held last week for Columbia security guard Albert Itson. All I kept thinking of was how he sat in that little corner of the Main Building everyday, and I saw one thing—his smile. It is that smile and friendly attitude that I will remember most.
Some knew Itson better than others. I only knew him by those pearly whites that he flashed me every time I walked passed him. He always said hello and was always eager to help me when I had various questions. I remember thinking to myself how I wished a fraction of his warmth would leak out into the folks up in financial aid.
So as I stood in the Hokin that day, listening to other faculty members’ memories of Itson, the tears began to flow. I could hardly see as I made my way to the refreshment table as I desperately searched for a napkin to wipe away my sniffles. I kept thinking to myself, that I never even knew Itson’s name until I learned of his death. But somehow, I felt like he was a part of me and my everyday Columbia experience.
It was the little things that he did each day that endeared him to so many people in Columbia’s community. Something as seemingly small as that had such a huge effect on so many, enough to bring tears to the eyes of some of Columbia’s more hardened-faced individuals.
Then I began to think of how little things like that aren’t really minor at all. In fact, something as simple as a hello, or as holding the door open for someone, can make a bad day feel a tad bit better.
A couple of weeks ago I was taking a stroll down my suburban street with my neighbor’s dog Scout at my side. I was having a BAD day and was not in the best of moods.
But as I was walking with Scout and she was trying to chew the leash, which held her captive, a little blonde girl and her sister approached me and my pooch. At first they wanted to pet Scout, who was more interested in chasing the squirrel up the nearby tree, than being social. So one of the little girls and I had a nice chat about her own dog Belle. She then was showing me the plastic tiaras her sister and her had just bought.
After we had chatted for about 10 minutes, she plucked a Queen Anne’s lace wildflower from her yard and gave it to me. As I thanked her, Scout and I began walking again.
But the whole time, my mind kept coming back to how the gesture made by the girl to give me that flower had almost instantly brightened up my mood. When I got home, I gave it some water, and continued to nurse the delicate flower until it drooped and could stand no more. Even though the flower has since dried up, the gift that little girl gave is something I will never forget.
A co-worker of mine also realized just how important the most inane things can be when her brother died recently. He had been hospitalized for some time after long bouts with a string of medical problems. But after his death, when she went to clean out his room, she found what would appear to be garbage to many of us—opened envelopes, candy wrappers—every scrap of anything that was given to him while he was in the hospital. Here was a 40-something year-old man who saved all the things that had been given to him from the handful of loved ones who had come to see him while he was ill. Those empty envelopes gave him solace.
Today, his sister still has a shoebox filled with her brother’s “treasures.” She couldn’t throw these things away after they had brought so much comfort to her brother in his final days.
How many of us zip through the day and never really stop to think about how important it is to appreciate the smaller things? I know I do. Half the time I’m so caught up in my own world, obsessing about various deadlines that I forget to even think about how much time I am letting just breeze by with all the worrying I am doing. Honestly, we’re only half way through the semester and I’ve already plucked FOUR gray hairs. Stress is as commonplace in our lives as our morning cup of coffee.
But as I cried that day at Itson’s memorial, I realized how it was the minor things that I knew about Itson that I was ultimately going to miss— his smile, his gigantic presence, his daily greeting. The little things that when put together, touch so many lives.
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Columbia College Chicago
