The Nephew's Mite

Admittedly, my last post ended on a bit of a downer. But that's not to say the weekend was a total washout. For, no sooner had I finished my last post when I reached into one of my pockets and found: a treasure that was a crumpled-up dollar bill. And suddenly my perspective changed altogether.

I couldn't believe that, in my frustrations about my car, I had completely forgotten all about it and what it represented.

At the aforementioned family get-together, it was also a birthday party for all of those in the family with October birthdays, myself included. Two of my siblings and their families had each given me a copy of my favorite film of 2014, The LEGO Movie, on DVD.

Great minds think alike and all that.

My six-year-old nephew had, just before gift-giving time, collected a $1 bill from Grandpa for scoring a goal in Saturday's soccer game, which is a deal Grandpa has worked out with all of his grandkids. Some of them really take him to the cleaners on it, but the deal goes on nonetheless.

Back to gift-giving time: This same nephew gave me, as a gift, the same $1 bill that Grandpa had given him for scoring a goal. Now, a buck is not a whole lot of dough to us big kids, but to a six-year-old boy, well, it was all that he had.

It was a very humbling moment, and I was grateful for the gesture. Six-year-old nephew is like that. He'd shave your back for a nickel. He's my buddy.

In retrospect, it has made me think of the scripture in St. Mark 12:41-44:

"And Jesus sat over against the treasury, and beheld how the people cast money into the treasury: and many that were rich cast in much. And there came a certain poor widow, and she threw in two mites, which make a farthing. And he called unto him his disciples, and saith unto them, Verily I say unto you, That this poor widow hath cast more in, than all they which have cast into the treasury: For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living."

Six-year-old nephew has a heart and soul that big. I'm lucky to be his uncle and also his friend.

We Are All Beggars

"Are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?
-Mosiah 4:19

Recently, the Angry White Loner asked if any of you readers out there had questions that he might attempt to answer. In return, he received a number of queries. So many so that he nearly required four fingers to count all of them.

Tonight, he attempts to answer one of your questions for the first time. (It will require nearly four blog posts to get to all of them, as you might have guessed, so please be patient with me.)

Angry White Reader Erik asked:

"Giving to the beggars . . . do it? Don't do it? Does it reinforce their behavior? Is there an alternative? Again, I have my opinion, but I would be interested in your thoughts."

Thanks for your question, Erik. This topic has been on my mind today because of our Gospel Doctrine lesson this afternoon on the Island of Misfit Toys, in which we covered in part the Old Testament book of Amos. Not only is Amos famous for the cookies and also for the oft-quoted (by missionaries) scripture about God not doing anything save he does it through His servants, the prophets (Amos 3:7), but I learned that, at this particular point in time, the people of Israel as a whole were in deep doo-doo for, among other things, not taking care of the poor and needy.

Like you all, I've come across many panhandlers in my travels. I am not wealthy. After all, I studied journalism and English literature in college, and I pretend to be an actor on the weekends. I am of the opinion that those who have been richly blessed (as in, big bucks) are under the obligation to give more where they can.

I do not give money to most panhandlers, but I have given a buck or two to the occasional person. And, as long as I have cash on me, I always stop to buy lemonade or Kool-Aid when kids are selling it on the curbside on hot summer days.

Always.

Once, I met a young man on my way out of Wendy's, asking if I had any change to spare. I honestly didn't (I rarely carry cash these days and make most purchases with a debit or credit card) and told him so, but instead I offered to go back into the restaurant with him and buy him a hamburger. He gladly accepted and seemed genuinely grateful for the gesture.

Earlier that day, in fact, I had landed a new job after looking for one for quite a while. I was feeling particularly blessed, and this young man gave me an opportunity to "pay it forward" to someone.

That's just one example from the AWL's life. So, are people asking for money really in need, or are they conning us?

My answer is: Yes. To both.

Panhandlers fall into both categories. Some are genuinely in need, while others are not. Only God knows the heart and soul and is qualified to judge which is which, in my humble opinion.

I have a testimony of the blessings and the benefits of paying tithing, of giving fast offerings or to the Perpetual Education Fund, etc., to the Church. On countless occasions, I have witnessed the Church use these funds, infinitely more wisely than I ever could endeavor to do, to save, to lift, and to heal people of any and all faiths. To help all of Heavenly Father's children.

Angry White Dad worked for the Church for many years, during which time I got to volunteer and/or tour various canneries, bishop's storehouses, farms, and so on, and I saw it all in action. On a trip to the east coast that the two of us took together when I was 18, just prior to leaving on my mission, we got to see the Richmond, Virginia; Washington, D.C.; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; and Boston, Massachusetts storehouses in action. It's the real deal, folks; it's not just here in Utah. Later on, when the PEF was created in the early 2000s, AWD got to work with that program, too. We got to see even more lives being blessed with a newfound opportunity to obtain an education.

Above all, I love that the Church teaches us to be self-reliant. It's the old adage of "teaching a man to fish" rather than giving him a fish, so that we can help ourselves and then, in turn, help others who cannot do so due to chronic illness, injuries, death of a spouse, loss of employment, natural disasters, and so forth. Because I have faith in the Church, I have faith that my contributions are being put to the best possible use.

Of course, the LDS Church does a great deal, but it does not have a monopoly on helping the poor and needy. More than one Angry White Brother performed an Eagle Scout project collecting clothing and other items for the St. Vincent de Paul Catholic charity in Salt Lake City, a rock star of an organization if there ever was one. In addition, Angry White Mom (prior to her recent accident, anyway) volunteers at the local food bank run in the back parking lot of a Bountiful Protestant church, giving service and helping customers feed their families. Yours truly had the chance to volunteer time there a few times in my previous ward. If you live in Davis County, I highly recommend paying them a visit or giving them a call to see what you can do. Odds are, they need you.

Many people may view charity as "a coat you wear twice a year," helping out at a soup kitchen on Thanksgiving and/or Christmas. While this is a worthy and an important cause, I believe charity is really more of a way of life than a check mark that you make on a list as a task to be completed. It is both in giving the bare necessities like money, food, and clothing but also in the small things, such as giving friendship, a listening ear, love, time, and genuine concern for those around us.

That little stream that said "give"? As in, the Primary song? That's what I mean.

And that is something we can all afford to do.

The Sky Is Falling

Confession time: The Angry White Loner, at times, is not all that different from Chicken Little—he of "the sky is falling!" fame. Or infame.

Infamousness? Infamosity? Whatever. It's late, and I'm too tired to look that up. Not all editors are walking, talking databases of grammar knowledge.

Admittedly, I'm one who tends to think in terms of worst-case scenario when a problem or series of problems presents itself. It's something I need to work on, but it still happens.

For example, car expenses.

With the weather warming up—at least for the time being—I took my car in to the shop yesterday to have the snow tires taken off and the "regular" ones put back on. Like you do.

Only the regular tires weren't really all that street worthy. The nice tire shop employee even brought one of the tires to the counter to show me how the tread, not unlike Joe Biden's sanity, had long since worn away. The new tires they had picked out for me would cost . . . well, far more than I was expecting to pay. Then he probably headed back to the garage to snicker with his co-workers at what a nincompoop I am, actually intending to drive back out onto Davis County roads with tires in such a pathetic condition.

Well, I've certainly got that kind of money right now! I thought to myself, by which I actually meant completely the opposite. Sadly, there was no one around for me to say this out loud to and to entertain with my witty remark. For a small fortune like that, they also better equip the Aluminum Falcon with a flux capacitor and a Mr. Fusion while they're at it!

Even better, I then thought, I've got car registration coming up in April, plus taxes to pay, and then I've just gotta buy the new LEGO Hobbit game when it comes out, then it's Henny Penny's birthday gift, and Goosey Loosey's bar mitzvah, and—I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE!—they're blinking and beeping and flashing and blinking and—

KABOOOOOM!

This is the point at which I spontaneously combusted.

Angry White Sandwich

Apparently, Burger King now carries a sandwich called an "Angry Whopper" on its menu. As you might have guessed upon reading that little tidbit, it has been calling the Angry White Loner's name.

Birds of a feather and all that stuff.

No, Burger King isn't compensating me to say any of this. When I was 18 years old and worked at BK for a year, they didn't really compensate me then, either. Not that I am bitter. Or angry.

Suffice me to say that if you, like President Obama, think that the minimum wage is too low now, it was even worse Back in My Day.

Anyway, for dinner tonight, the Angry White Loner tried out an Angry Whopper, which is much like a regular Whopper, except that it hides out in the basement all day and sulks and listens to Evanescence and writes numerous blog posts about how women just don't "get" it.

In addition to the usual hamburger toppings like ketchup, pickles, lettuce, and tomatoes, it also contains such "angry" food elements as bacon, pepper jack cheese, chipotle peppers, and a very hot "secret" sauce that may be made up of battery acid, lighter fluid, or the blood of the alien in the Alien/Sigourney Weaver film franchise. Or all of the above. Who knows for sure?

On a scale of one to 10, the Angry Whopper has a spiciness level of about 45. It's far too spicy for my tastes.

Just about the right amount of angry, though.

Big Boys Don't Cry

It happened again.

I have now seen the first three episodes of the current season of "Secret Millionaire," and I have ended up bawling like a baby at the end of each one.

For those who are not familiar with "Secret Millionaire," it is a reality TV program that doesn't stink to high heaven. Unlike such better-known programming as "Keeping Up with the Kardashians," "Jersey Shore," "The Bachelor," etc., one of the major things that sets it apart is that it actually features admirable and interesting people who are trying to do worthwhile things with their lives.

In each episode, a self-made millionaire travels to an impoverished and/or crime-ridden neighborhood within a major U.S. city and must live there for a week, residing in the kind of housing that people on welfare inhabit and also living on the same budget, which usually amounts to only $30 or $40 a week such basics as groceries. At the same time, the secret millionaire ventures out into the community to find worthy charities and causes for which he/she can donate time and effort: shelters, soup kitchens, support groups, anti-drug counseling, centers for the disabled, etc. Quite often, these charities are, like to people who run them, operating on a shoestring budget.

At the end of the week, the millionaire pays one final visit to these charities, revealing his/her true identity as a successful businessperson. He/she then presents these charities with a check, which is often for tens of thousands of dollars and is taken out of the millionaire's own pockets. Sometimes, that figure goes as high as hundreds of thousands of dollars.

My favorite part of it is that the recipients of these checks, real salt-of-the-Earth people working at these charities because they have a sincere desire to help others and to make their communities better, have absolutely no clue that this money is coming to them, and their reactions are always priceless. At the end of the episode, you find out what they end up doing with the money they have been given. Quite often, it goes a very long way to helping others who are in need.

It's hands-down one of my favorite things to watch on TV. And, as I mentioned earlier, it always makes me cry.

"Secret Millionaire" isn't the only TV show that gets to me, gang. I am also a sucker for the LDS-produced movie The Last Leaf, which stars Jane Kaczmarek (the mom from "Malcolm in the Middle"!) when she was much younger. I could tell you about the other films that have made me weep, and there are more than a few, but then I fear I would be falling into territory in which I could easily be blackmailed by y'all.

Other TV shows/movies have made me laugh so hard that I have cried, such as the Pod People episode of "Mystery Science Theater 3000" and the YouTube video of the children's orchestra playing Richard Strauss's "Also Sprach Zarathustra," aka the theme to 2001: A Space Odyssey. There was also the time that I discovered our family's golden retriever, Rolley, chowing down on the gingerbread houses we had made earlier that week. She had finished nearly two houses, from top to bottom, when I discovered what she had done.

Let's just say that I chuckled so hard and so long that I had to change my pants when I was finished.

That brings the Angry White Loner to the question: Is it okay for men to admit that they cry?

I can't answer for other guys, but I believe crying can be the outward expression of what are healthy emotions. It can also be a great release of pent-up stress, worry, or heartache when it is not motivated by joy and, thus, can be very therapeutic.

Most importantly, it shows women that we men are sensitive, new-age guys.

The Man of Aluminum and His Kryptonite

I just read online somewhere (source: somewhere) that the new Superman movie Man of Steel soared (ha ha! . . . get it?) to an incredible $113 million in box office earnings over the weekend. That's a lot of money! Putting it into figures we can all understand, it is the same as approximately .0066 percent of the current national debt.

Contributing $7 of my own to the cause, I caught the film yesterday along with a handful of family members. It was certainly a trip down memory lane for me, as once upon a time I was a strange, little kid who liked to dress up in my Superman costume nearly every day, often accompanying my poor, embarrassed mother to such public places at the grocery store and Primary activities while dressed in said outfit.

Now a strange, big kid, I must admit that I enjoyed the film immensely. Not to give away too much, but Dwight Schrute of "The Office" fame makes a cameo appearance as a childhood friend of Clark Kent's who grows up to become the manager of a Kansas IHOP. Also (and these are real spoilers now, so feel free to put your fingers in your ears and chant "Lah lah lah lah, I can't hear you!" until the end of this paragraph): There is surprisingly no mention in the film of either Lex Luthor or of kryptonite, two staples of the Superman universe.

True and seemingly unrelated, but bear with me, story: For Halloween a few years back, I created one of my favorite all-time costumes by tearing off a roll of aluminum foil, folding it around my head, and going to a Halloween party as one of the characters from M. Night Shyamalan's Signs - you know, the scene in which they create aluminum foil hats for themselves to keep the aliens from reading their minds? People at the party apparently had not seen Signs (their loss entirely, am I right?) and were utterly bewildered, thinking I was some sort of mutant Hershey's Kiss.

Ergo, if I were a superhero, I would not be the Man of Steel but the Man of Aluminum. And my one weakness, or kryptonite, as referenced in my previous post, would be: talking to women on the phone.

After all of these years of trying (and failing) to perfect the art of conversation over the phone, it's still no easier in my 30s than when I was 16 and was planning my first date. It can be a fine line trying to be funny/charming and coherent, while showing an earnest interest in her and what she has to say, and often I end up being none of the above.

One thing remains constant: I am a dweeb.

Sometimes, I stay awake at night wondering exactly how women feel about talking on the phone to someone who sounds very nervous doing so and is trying not to come across as, oh, say, Ted Bundy. Are they amused by it in a you're-such-a-moron fashion? Are they trying their hardest not to burst out into laughter? When they agree to go on a date, is it motivated by pity? I have even heard of a third school of thought: They actually see it as someone who is moving forward with a date request in spite of his fears and/or nervousness. I daresay, some are even impressed by it.

Whatever the answer may be, I can certainly understand why people find security in texting or e-mails or Facebook or what-have-you. It's a lot safer that way - especially if the girl declines the date request. That way, there's no awkward conversation that follows ("Well, will you be washing your hair on Thursday then?") and a can't-get-there-soon-enough hanging up of the phone.

Nevertheless, fellow males and Justice Leaguers, I admire the fortitude you show me in moving ahead in spite of your fears, for I believe that we all have them with regard to the opposite sex and also that this is the only real way to conquer our fears in the long run. I have accepted the phone call as a necessary evil in life and will need to keep phoning (preferably texting) women now and in the future.

Just don't expect a Man of Steel on the other end of the line.

Lost and Found

I'm a believer in the old saying that "what goes around, comes around." What I take this to mean is that we tend to become the benficiaries of others' good deeds when we also do good deeds in life, and that the converse is true with regard to bad deeds. Call it karma, if you will. We reap what we sow, or maybe it is the Golden Rule.

Uhh . . . let me check. Yeah, that's it. I'm all out of mottoes and catch phrases for this particular point.

Sometimes, this aspect of life becomes clear to me in a very real, concrete way. Such was the case just the other night, when I walked to my car in the parking lot and spotted a $20 bill lying there on the ground.

It didn't take me long to look up from the $20 bill on the ground to realize that it probably belonged to the man sitting in the car next to me, talking on his cell phone and apparently oblivious to the fact that the 20-spot lay there on the asphalt.

I picked the bill up and tapped on the man's window, and since he was busy talking on the phone, I tried to gesture that it was probably his and may have fallen out of his pocket. He opened his window and thanked me more than once, saying that it had probably fallen out as he was getting his keys out to unlock his car door.

No sooner had I opened the door of my own car and I sat in the driver's seat when I impusively looked at my left wrist to check the time and realized that my watch wasn't there where it normally was. I had left it at the gym, which was my previous stop before going to the grocery store. (Side note: Do not go grocery shopping when you've just been to the gym.)

I drove the half-mile back to the gym and found that my watch was not in any of the places I had been while I was there. My only hope left was the lost-and-found box at the check-in desk, and, fortunately, a good Samaritan had picked up my watch and had left it there for me to retrieve.

My two experiences of finding a lost item, as well as having one of my own returned to me, occurred within a 15-minute timeframe of each other. I had helped someone else find a lost item, and someone had done the same for me. I was grateful at that moment when it hit me, in a very real sense, that, when all is boiled down, people are still good, honest, decent, outgoing, and kind at heart. Our society is not yet doomed.

It would have been very easy for me to have scooped up that $20 bill and to put it into my own pocket - think of all of the curly cheese fries I could have bought with it! - without the man who had lost it realizing that fact until later in the evening (kind of like me and my watch!), but I'm glad I didn't.

The watch, by the way, cost me more than $20, so if anything, I was the one who lucked out.