Sometimes it's okay to give for wrong reasons

A few years ago, my wife and daughter suggested we donate to our municipal library. My response was viewed as cold: “You know we already pay library taxes, right? It’s right on our property tax bill. I can show you.”  

Surprisingly, they didn’t want to be shown. 

Seeing this was a battle I couldn’t win, I relented. I gave the institution twenty bucks.

A few days later, I received a rather lengthy message from someone at the library thanking me for my donation. They even asked if I wanted to go out for coffee sometime. 

Obviously, they don’t get many donations. But still, it was nice. 

It was also enough to make me a regular donor. Because every year, a few days after my donation, I get the customary phone call. 

This year I even upped my pledge. It felt so good... I mean to get that phone call. The message they left was even longer, even more effusive in their gratitude. I listened to it at least a couple times. 

As altruistic as I like to think I am, there’s an immense feeling of satisfaction in giving to organizations that put you on a pedestal for your ounce of generosity. (And let’s be clear, my donation likely only covered an hour’s wage of the person calling back donors to thank them for their donations.) 

For the most part, our family’s donations come automatically out of our bank account. That’s all well and good. In fact, I prefer it because I miss the money less, and we know that non-profits depend on a steady stream of funds. 

But there are a few organizations we give to out of the blue, just because we want to. It’s those little gifts that can be the most rewarding. 

Giving to people on the street can have a similar, uplifting effect.  

Like the guy I met one morning walking to work. This young man looked a little down on his luck when he asked for change, so I gave him $20. He thanked me as I began walking away, telling me about all he could buy with the cash. That made me feel good. Which made me wonder, did I really do it for him? 

I realize doling out change (or bills) may not be the best way to alleviate poverty, at least that’s what I’ve been told; better to give to an organization that helps the needy rather than to complete strangers. But is this always true? 

Some research has shown that giving directly to the poorest of the poor can be more effective than giving to organizations that assist the poor. Why? Because the poorest of the poor (generally) put every dollar to good use. A gift of cash through GiveDirectly, for example, can be life-changing, enabling families to repair homes, buy livestock and medicine, and invest in education. 

Microloans don’t appear to have the same track record. Although these may feel more prudent to us Westerners – encouraging entrepreneurship, helping people become more self-sufficient, etc. – they aren't always that effective. Give a family a boost in cash, and the improvements to their lives are immediate and even longer lasting. 

With that all said, our family continues to give to larger non-profit organizations. They’ve been doing their work for years and seem to be pretty good at it.  

Like the library.... Yes, I know, it’s not even a charity – although technically, it has charitable status (an all-important factor when filling out your tax return). 

But in the end, it’s more than the charitable tax receipt or knowing I’ve helped an organization I value.  

It’s all about that phone call. 

Housing is the new toilet paper

Hard-wired in our human brains is the tendency to move in herds.  

This can explain a lot of trends, but also makes the future difficult to predict. The pandemic has illustrated that not everything we do all together is rational. 

Who, after all, could have predicted the great toilet paper run of 2020? Sociologists will grapple with this event for some time. Was it the soft comfort afforded to us in a collective moment of fear and dread? Or was it the need to horde something – anything – to give us a sense of control? 

Whatever the reasons, miraculously, we never ran out. We had an ample supply of old-growth timber to keep our bottoms clean. 

As covid-19 vaccines slowly roll out, I would have expected a similar rush to get inoculated, but we're not seeing quite the same urgency.  

In the drive-thru in Regina (a covid hotspot, in case you hadn’t heard), the wait times were often less than an hour. One day they had excess vaccines, so decided to open things up to emergency and other front-line workers (why they weren’t available to them in the first place is a mystery). 

Of course people have their reasons for not lining up. Some are more comfortable waiting for an appointment and some are vaccine hesitant. But so far, anyway, the toilet paper frenzy was bigger than the rush to get vaccines. One must deduce that we’re more concerned about keeping our bottoms clean than risking sickness and death. 

Another recent phenomenon is the pandemic housing boom. While unpredicted, now in hindsight, it makes complete sense. 

Lower interest rates, a need for more space, and more money in our pockets (for the middle/upper class, anyway), has led to yet another unprecedented spike in prices. 

 A quick glance of the headlines in The Globe and Mail on Friday reveal the extent of our obsession: 

The trouble with the bubble: Why Canada’s red-hot housing market is defying the burst. 

What does $700K buy across Canada: Properties priced at the national average, from coast to coast. 

Tax tips for buying, building, renovating or selling a home. 

Home of the Week: From a typical downtown Toronto ‘rental junk’ to joy. 

Notice the implicit condescension toward renting... In today’s society, you haven’t really made it until you own a home. Only then will you will reap the rewards of eternal home maintenance and renovations. 

The housing bust has been predicted so many times in Canada that we now call these people false prophets. Not even the great housing crash of 2009 – the one that decimated Europe and the U.S. – has left us undeterred. 

But it won’t last forever. 

A surprising trend demonstrating our unpredictability is the recent decline in car ownership. In Saskatchewan, car registrations declined 11% from 2014 to 2018, while the population continued to increase. 

The pandemic will surely accentuate this trend. We've driven our car so little this past year, cobwebs began growing under the wheel wells (well, almost). 

As with all things we think will never change – if ever there was a symbol of progress and status in the 20th century, it was the car – eventually they will. But good luck trying to predict when. 

Covid Commandments were good

“Is this the Third Wave?” my daughter asked as she worked on a school project from the comfort of our kitchen table. 

Hmmm... the Third Wave, I pondered, thinking back to when it all began. 

“My daughter,” I said in my most tender, fatherly voice. “For this I will have to tell you a story.” 

She started to get up, but I gently pressed her by the shoulders back down into her seat.  

“A long time ago,” I began, “likely before you can even remember, we didn’t wear masks. We didn’t even know what Zoom was.” 

“I know,” she said. “I was 12.” 

I patted her softly on her head. “Yes, you were but a child on the day of the Great Pronouncement. When Government gave us the decrees.” 

“You mean when school shut down?” (So innocent was she then!) 

“Among other things,” I chuckled. “In that day, our eyes were unopened. They were closed to all things viral. We did not speak of them.” 

“Dad, why are you talking so weird?”  

But I continued on. “When Government made its Great Pronouncement, we were fearful. There were rumours of disease and tribulation. We knew The Covid, although invisible, was approaching quickly. 

“So Government, in a rare act of proactive measures, pronounced the following decrees: You shall not touch your face after touching a foreign object. You shall not come within two metres of your neighbour. You shall not go to work or to school. You shall not shop for unnecessary goods (unless from Amazon). You shall not go out to eat or drink. You shall be depressed and miserable. 

“And for a while, we were. Until we realized that working from home had benefits, like not having to wear pants. Kids did not have to study. Unnecessary meetings and conferences were cancelled. And Government showered us with monetary benefits; so many, it felt like money was falling from the sky. 

“For the people said, ‘Give us our money back! The stock market gods are angry!’ When Government told them it would lead to more debt, they responded: ‘We don’t care! Let our children pay it!’ 

“And so it came to be. This, my daughter, was the First Wave.” 

She looked amused, gazing intently at something on her laptop.  

But I continued: “We benefited greatly from the Covid Commandments. We went months with few people becoming ill. So Government said we could meet again in small groups – even go out to eat and drink! We had only to keep our distance. That is until the Second Wave. 

“It was the Second Wave, my daughter, whence came the Great Masking. Some of the greatest advisors to Government said: ‘You have heard it said, you shall not touch your face after touching a foreign object, but now we say to you: Do not even inhale someone’s aerosols.’ 

“And so Government decreed that in public places, people shall cover their noses and mouths. But some people said, ‘You shall not force us to cover our noses or our mouths! We will surely suffocate and die!’ 

“Many false teachers arose, saying this was all a ruse – The Covid was no worse than the flu. And many believed. 

“The people became lax, and Government grew tired of telling them what to do. Some experts in the laws of epidemiology said we should be more like Australia, shutting things down so we may save lives and grow our economy again. But many people said, “We don’t want to be like the Communist Aussies! We want our freedom now!’ 

“And so the deaths continued. That, my daughter, was the Second Wave.” 

She looked at me seriously. “Dad, I gotta go to the bathroom.” 

“No,” I responded to her softly. “I must tell you now about the Third Wave, that which you have asked.” 

She looked at her watch and sighed. 

“Even before the Second Wave began, we heard of great news. A substance had been discovered – a cold, frozen substance that could protect us all: The Great Rescuer. By summer, all of us would be able to partake in its freezing cold, life-saving properties. This gave us hope. But in some ways, false hope. 

“Many people said they could not wait until summer. They said, ‘Let us go into the bars now – to eat, drink and be merry! And let us gather in large groups in our homes without masks. And let our economy function exactly how it was before!’ 

“Experts in the law of epidemiology warned against such activities. They said more people would get sick and many more would die.’ 

“But the people said: ‘We’ll take our chances!’ 

“And so Government, lacking in spine, allowed the people to ‘take their chances.’ More died, and continue to die, even as The Great Rescuer entered the arms of many. A few months did not seem long to wait, but the people had spoken. 

“And so, my daughter, thus came the Third Wave.” 

“That’s it?” she said. “That’s why I’m not going to school again?” 

I looked at her lovingly. “Yes. For the safety of us all.” 

With that, I let her go to the bathroom. 

 

The Greatest Generation continues to impress

           Yesterday my grandma turned 98.  

It’s been a rough year for the elderly. She ended up in a nursing home just before the Great Pandemic (remember that?) If not for slipping on some ice, she'd likely still be living independently in her condo, not necessarily a better circumstance given the travails of 2020. 

It’s her mobility that gets her into trouble. No cane. No walker. Her legs are almost too healthy, while her sense of balance is... at times suspect. A number of slips and falls over the last ten years have caused more broken bones than I’d want to endure in a lifetime. Incredibly, her body has healed itself – and still, no walker!    

It makes me think of football players who complain about slower recovery times when they’re in their 30s. I wonder how they’ll do in their 90s.  

It’s incredible, when you think of it, how many people are now living independent, productive lives in their 80s and 90s. Such is the golden age we live in (no pun intended). 

My co-worker's in-laws are in their 90s, still happily married (I actually don't know how happy, but they've learned to co-exist for almost 70 years), living in the same home they raised their family. Two of the most productive people I know on earth (and yes, I know a lot of people on earth) are both nearing the age of 90. They make me tired just thinking about how many activities they’re involved in. Perhaps I’ll have more energy as I age... 

My mom had a similar thought when she reflected on the life of her late father. The number of organizations and activities he was involved in throughout his life was surreal. 

This may be an overgeneralization, but younger generations are not quite as involved. Or as willing to sacrifice for a cause. My grandpa voluntarily joined the army during World War II. Who would do that today? Back then, thousands of young people did.

The Queen of England is turning 95 this April and I don’t think she has any intention of slowing down. Like the Energizer Bunny, she just keeps going and going... which is quite a feat given the amount of ridicule and scandal she’s had to endure throughout her reign. Watching The Crown gave me a new appreciation of how difficult the job is. (This is somewhat unrelated, but as she is approaching that centennial milestone, will the Queen send a congratulatory greeting to herself when she turns 100?)

This generation, the most at risk of dying from covid-19, has been called the Greatest Generation. There’s something to be said for that. 

Maybe it’s because they lived in a different time, when things weren’t so convenient. Even my mom, as I’ve recently learned, went to a one-room school house by horse and buggy for her first year of school. But then they got school buses and she got soft, like the rest of us. (Just kidding, she still has that farm girl grit.) 

I would imagine living a life absent any modern conveniences toughens you up. Most people who grew up in the 1930s became who they are because of the hardships they endured. 

As I work at a computer from the comfort of my home (yes, in my pajama pants), I can only speculate.