Kindness changed me

I have the scar on my arm to prove it

I was 13 and foolish. I still have the scar on my arm to prove it.

The motorcycle was too irresistible, I had to ride it.

It was a beat up 90cc piece of shit and I was riding it around a paddock on a green field right next to Hobbiton in rural New Zealand.

I had one goal: to go as fast as I possibly could.

I usually reach my goals, and on this occasion, I reached 40 miles an hour down the back straight of the dairy farm paddock. This was right before I tried to turn the corner.

No corner was turned successfully.

I smashed into a woody hedge, helmetless at forty clicks an hour, head on, way too fast, in a clattering, smoky wreck.

My head hit something hard… but not too hard. My right arm, however, was driven into a woody stump which scraped right to the bone.

I staggered away, grateful that I could still walk, happy that I could still breathe.

Then I looked at the bike…

It was a twisted, broken, sparking heap of metal… utterly ruined. I stumbled off in tears, going to find the farmer to tell him of my sins.

I was sure that I was in for the berating of my life. Convinced that I would be sent home early from the farm holiday. Devastated, embarrassed, and scared.

He was working on the tractor, and he didn’t see me approaching…

“David”, I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, “I ruined your bike.”

I stood waiting for his anger. He slowly looked up… “Oh my goodness, are you okay?”

It was the first time in my life that I truly saw it, unadulterated, pure, not defiled by anything else…

Kindness.

There was nothing else in his eyes other than pure kindness.

No concern for his bike. No anger at my betrayal.

Kindness. It’s a beautiful, life-changing thing. I still have the scar on my arm to prove it.

G. x