Our best instincts

      In times such as these, the best gift you may have to offer another is to listen to his or her story. Here is one, the story that my son Brian wrote the weekend after Sept. 11.
      "It was the best of humanity, it was the worst of humanity. So went this past week.
      "Everyday since the Trade Center tragedy, I've tried to either donate my time or my blood, only to be turned away. Although I felt comforted and proud of the fact that so many of my fellow New Yorkers were turning out to volunteer, it does not compare to the feelings I had today when I finally had my chance.
      "Along with my two brothers and three friends, I arrived at The Jacob Javits Center at 6:30 this morning. Much to our surprise, they accepted us almost immediately, as they were about to release some others who worked throughout the night. The primary objective at this location was to accept, organize and distribute all donations of food, water, drinks, clothing, medical supplies, hard hats, flashlights, respirators, dust masks, goggles, welding equipment and countless other miscellaneous items.
      "What I witnessed today was the absolute best the human spirit has to offer. Donors included Amanda and Amanda from Careyville, N.Y. They were two fifth-graders who came down with one of their dads in a big rig, loaded with supplies raised by their classmates. I was heartbroken when I was told that we could no longer accept more food and water due to oversupply. We called relief effort after relief effort to ensure that these young girls would not have the burden of explaining to their friends why their generosity was not accepted. We finally found a home for all the excess supplies. It was the girls first time in Manhattan. I hope they see a happier New York one day; they'll never see a better one.
      "There was a woman standing outside the gate with a small plastic bag in her hand. It was a chaotic moment, the streets were lined with police officers, FBI agents and FEMA workers. She seemed frightened. I asked if I could help her. She told me she had just driven up from Delaware with her husband to make a donation and nobody would let her in to drop off her bag. I assured her that I would make certain it found its way to the right area. In the bag were two packages of cotton balls, two bottles of hydrogen peroxide and five bottles of aspirin. Looking through a heavily guarded, barbed wire fence filled with supplies that were literally supporting an army, I imagined that she felt her donation to be trivial. I refused to let her leave that sidewalk without fully appreciating the value of her gesture.
      "There were stories like these all day long. Frantic people from all over the country were pulling up with all sorts of supplies, desperation and disbelief in their eyes. A firm handshake, a warm hug, a sincere thank you was all I had the luxury of offering them. There was no time to get to know them, as much as I wanted to. There was work to be done and traffic needed to keep moving. I hope my gestures of gratitude were appreciated for their sincerity and not for their duration.
      "Inside the fences I worked alongside an ordinary group of people who did extraordinary things. I was struck by how quickly everyone grasped a sense of responsibility. As new reinforcements flowed in, we directed them to what needed to be done. An hour later they were leading the way.
      "Outside the fences, amongst countrywide representatives of police departments, federal agents, EMS workers and Gov. Pataki's security detail, there were chiropractors and massage therapists offering their free services. There was the warmest group of people who drove down from Connecticut, grilling hamburgers and hot dogs for all the workers. There was a woman strumming folk tunes on her guitar. Children handed out candy in the streets. Free t-shirts emblazoned with Old Glory read "Proud and Brave."
      "The revolving door of the heroic "ground zero" forces and the stories they shared was a constant reminder of why we were all there. Similarly, the people I had the privilege of working with were a constant reminder of why we are so proud to call ourselves Americans.
      "When we left later that afternoon, we shared our feelings about the sense of togetherness and accomplishment that we all had experienced. As I sat in a taxi taking us home to the Upper East Side, I noticed that our driver had a Muslim name. I wondered to myself what his feelings and experiences had been since the tragedy. I assumed he was horrified and sickened, as was most of the world, by what had happened. He could have lost a loved one, and on top of that, suffered the indignity of racial backlash. I confess a dark thought also entered my mind. What if he had celebrated this act of terror, or even
worse, what if he was somehow involved? Oh, how I'd want to reach over the seat and break his neck if somehow I knew that to be true.
      "When we arrived home, he asked if we had just come from volunteering. When we told him we had, he refused money for the fare. After stepping out of the cab and thanking him for his kind gesture, I tried to at least give him a tip. He offered a handshake instead. When I looked into his eyes, I saw the same look from him that I had seen all day. It was the best of humanity."

      Linda Sapadin, Ph.D. is the loving and proud mother of New York City residents Brian, Glenn and Daniel Sapadin.