Giving Back
At the beginning of the year, I received an email from Vitalant (you probably know them as Lifeblood, their old moniker), the local blood collection and transfusion services organization. It seemed that I was eligible to donate again.
I mentioned to my significant other that I was scheduling an appointment, and she asked me to make one for her as well, her first. “Well, the nice woman at the call center did say they had a shortage,” I said.
“We’ll make a date of it,” Sydnie replied.
When we arrived at the donation center, she admitted to being a little nervous, which took me by surprise, though in retrospect it makes total sense. Nobody likes needles or white clinical-looking rooms that smell of antiseptic spray. Over the years, though, I had become completely inured to the donation process.
Take baby steps, set small goals, and make your activism or charity something that comes naturally. I’m not about to run 26.2 miles, and I don’t see myself underwriting any nonprofits soon. I can give a little time, though.
You see, my dad, my sister, and I are all type O-negative — the universal donor. So, long before I was old enough to donate, I’d watched as our refrigerator accumulated my dad’s Lifeblood magnets. There, among the magnetic alphabet that held my crayon doodles of dinosaurs to the fridge, Dad’s magnets told the tale of his progression from gallon donor to two-gallon donor and beyond. When I turned 18, I started giving, just because it’s what we do in my family. I didn’t think about it much beyond looking forward to the orange juice they give you at the end. My younger sister, when she was old enough, began donating, too, but because she barely tips the scales on the side of eligibility, she eats ravenously for a week prior to going. She takes iron supplements. In short, she and Sydnie, who was nervous but stepped up and committed to help in spite of that, are the kind of people who inspire me. I applaud them, as I applaud any readers who challenge themselves to go to new lengths to help their community.
But this column isn’t for them.
It’s so easy to think that you have to run in the St. Jude Marathon or cut a four-figure check to one of Memphis’ many deserving nonprofits to be a hero. After all, those are the kinds of giving back that usually get ink or time on the evening news. But I’m here today to speak up for ordinary, everyday acts of charity.
Of course, if you’re the type who goes the extra mile, please don’t let me dissuade you from continuing in that tradition. We need you. Please keep doing what you’re doing. But if you’re thinking that it’s two months into the new year and you haven’t made good on your resolution to get more involved, well, I’m talking to you. Take baby steps, set small goals, and make your activism or charity something that comes naturally. I’m not about to run 26.2 miles, and I don’t see myself underwriting any nonprofits soon. I can give a little time, though.
If you’re absolutely phobic about needles, if the sight of blood instantly nauseates you, or your medical history precludes you from donating, then this particular method of community engagement isn’t for you — and that’s okay. We’re all different, and we all have something unique we can give. In this way, our differences are a strength, and a diverse community is one with a multitude of resources.
As for my preferred method of giving back, well, what I love about being a blood donor — besides the cookies and orange juice you get after donating — is that I will never know if I meet someone who received my blood. It could be a man or a woman, a child or a retiree, a partner at a Downtown law firm, or the guy who chops the slaw for Tops Bar-B-Q, a person of any ethnicity. Because anyone can receive O-negative blood, we might not even be the same blood type. To me, that’s a microcosm of how community works — or at least how it’s supposed to work. We have to help our neighbors, and from a certain perspective, we’re all neighbors.
