It is better to give than to receive.
Or is it?
Andrew, a young man I met on the streets of Austin this week, taught me to think differently about that maxim.
Travel-weary and hungry, I was delighted to find staff busy cooking burgers at the Burger Bar, an outdoor grill next to my hotel, late on the evening of my arrival in Austin. Billed as the ultimate food enjoyment zone for burger aficionados who appreciate a juicy work of art, I was more than ready to put the Burger Bar’s bold statements to the taste test.
While the crew was busy with a grill full of burgers, a small crowd of hungry patrons awaited those ‘juicy works of art’. Finally, the cook turned to me at the order station – only to inform me that he was closed. The burger he just put on the grill was the last he was serving today.
There was no one else behind me in line, so I put my (normally effective) powers of persuasion to work and told him my order was simple. Just one burger, please. I have cash or credit, whichever is easier for you.
It seemed a reasonable request, after all, he had just plopped a burger on the grill. The cook was not to be moved. “We’re closed,” he insisted.
My further, very polite, requests were not-so-politely rebuffed. It was reminiscent of the Seinfeld “Soup Nazi” episode where Elaine was told “no soup for YOU!” only this was, “no burger for me.”
Admittedly, I was not going to go hungry if I did not get a burger at this burger bar. There were many other restaurant options at my disposal. This encounter would have been not worth retelling, except for Andrew.
Andrew, a city worker clearing debris from the sidewalk, approached the cook after my last round of burger-negotiations fell on deaf ears. Andrew called the cook aside, said something softly, and then turned back to his work cleaning the sidewalk further down the street.
The cook looked at me, sighed, pointed to the grill, and said, “one of these burgers is for you.”
Puzzled as to what the city worker said, I looked quizzically at the cook. While not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth – or put my burger at risk – curiosity got the best of me. I asked why.
The cook explained, “see that guy there? That’s Andrew. He used to be homeless. This was his burger. I was making it for him because I saw him cleaning the street tonight and I know how much he likes these burgers. I’m so proud of his work to turn his life around. I told him the last burger tonight was for him. Now he won’t take it. He insists we give it to you.”
Gulp. Now there was no way I was taking that burger from Andrew. Catching up to Andrew and his co-worker, I insisted I could not take his food. I thanked him for his generosity but explained I was fine. I appreciated the offer, but the burger was intended for him – and he should enjoy it.
With a slow smile Andrew softly retold the same story as the cook but gave more detail. In short, he said, “I used to be homeless. I couldn’t do anything for myself, let alone for anyone else. I can do this for you. It’s a gift to me to be able to give this small thing to you.”
I protested; he insisted. Now I was trying to bargain my way out of a burger not into one. Even an offer to split the burger was rebuffed. “No,” Andrew insisted. “I want to give you this gift. I don’t need the burger as much as I need to do something nice for someone. Please let me.”
This random, totally unexpected, and selfless small gift moved me to tears. Recognizing the value of this act, not because of the size of the gift, but because of the size of the story behind it, I simply said, “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a long time.”
Seeing my tears, Andrew cried, as did his big-muscled co-worker. We were a sight. Three previous strangers now interconnected by shared resources and shared story.
Going back to the Burger Bar, I tried to pay the cook for the burger. He rebuffed the offer. “No. I was giving Andrew a gift. He chose to give that gift to you. Don’t cheapen it by trying to pay for it.”
By receiving Andrew’s gift, allowing him the dignity of giving someone a simple gift that cost him nothing but his story, I received so much more than a juicy Texas-sized burger that night. I learned that sometimes it really is better to receive than to give. Being a graceful receiver can be a gift in and of itself.
The mission at the Area Agency on Aging is offering choices for independent lives. We also lift up the value of being an interdependent, intergenerational community and work hard to spread that value to others. Young Andrew did more than talk about the value of interconnectivity. He lived it. He saw a need he could meet, had a choice to make, and he acted. Without expectation of repayment, reciprocation, or even recognition.
I hope by reading this small snippet of his story you’ll be inspired to do the same. Whether you are the self-less giver or the graceful receiver. As an interdependent society, at times we’ll be called to be both.