Inside: April 2018 declared second chance month, when dogs reunite, and the tax man remaineth.
April 2018 Declared “Second Chance Month”
Second chances. . . . Something I’ve been pondering lately. Here is what got me to thinking about it.
The White House as well as several states and cities have declared April 2018 as “Second Chance Month.” Prison Fellowship is behind the push for the declaration, advocating second chances for the one in four American adults who have a criminal record and face thousands of legal restrictions and social stigma limiting access to jobs, housing, education, and other necessities for a better life. It’s a great idea to encourage second chances, hope, and new beginnings for those who have been in prison.
But beyond this great idea, what got my attention was the simple notion of a second chance. Generally speaking, second chances work for the rest of us folks, too. How many times would I have liked a second chance? A do-over. An opportunity to correct a mistake.
And, more importantly, how many times have I denied someone that same opportunity? While I’m not in any position to refuse employment or housing, how many times have I simply given up on someone? Ignored that person or went out of my way to avoid him or her because of a bad encounter from the past?
Forgiveness is not an easy path–whether the offended or the one offending. But we’ve all been in need of a second chance.
Multiple chances, really.
When Dogs Reunite
When major life events happen, we’re not the only ones affected. Our pets deal with the change as well. When my cousin and neighbor Phil passed away, his sister took his dog Spunk to live with her family. Spunk and Mom’s dog Honey spent a lot of time together, running around our farm and Phil’s, so when Spunk suddenly wasn’t there, Honey felt the loss.
The other day Mom and Honey were in the house when Honey started barking loudly and pacing as though someone were outside. But no one was there. Honey ran to the door to be let outside and quickly disappeared around the side of the house. At the same time Spunk came from the other direction. Honey ran back, and the two of them met and darted back and forth around each other, sniffing and playing and trotting off together for a while. Phil’s family had gathered in his house for a meal together, and his sister had brought Spunk with them for the day.
Although I wasn’t there to see it, the thought of Honey and Spunk together makes me smile. Phil’s family has promised to come out to the house from time to time, so I imagine more summer days with Honey and Spunk romping and playing around the farm together.
Just like old times.
The Tax Man Remaineth
Mike and I picked up our taxes the other day. Just like any other year. Same place, same before the deadline time frame. Same everything, really. We’ve been going to Don’s since we were first married, and for me, it’s been even longer. Don was Dad’s tax man, and because of the daughter and farm connection, he became my go-to guy from the time I first filed.
Anyone who knew Dad also knew how cantankerous he could become around tax time. (For farmers, filing comes earlier than the average citizen.) Once those tin coffee cans graced the kitchen table, watch out! Although he was pretty proud of his coffee can receipt system, he was often in bad sorts during the process. The silver lining in the whole ordeal? Stopping in at Don’s to talk for an hour or so to drop off tax papers, and again to pick them up.
To be honest, Don’s service isn’t the cheapest. Over the years Mike has gotten well-meaning advice from those city suburban types he often encounters at his work, telling him he ought to go to this tax place or that tax man. People who could find us more deductions. And didn’t we know we were paying too much? Admittedly, in recent years, we’ve considered it.
This year Don was there to greet us and quipped to Mike, “When are you going to bring back the sun?” Without missing a beat, Mike answered, “Soon.” Don laughed.
We stood and chatted for a few minutes about family and farming, and he thanked us for our business. Seeing Don there, sitting behind his desk, he reminded me of Dad. Similar age and build and demeanor. The connection did my heart good.
Once back in the car, I turned to Mike. “We’re never going anywhere else, are we.”
He shook his head with that knowing glance that told me he felt the same.
So maybe we aren’t the type of people who always seek out the best way to save money or do things more efficiently. “This is who we are,” I said to Mike. “And I’m not going to apologize for that.”
This is who we are. And there’s something liberating in knowing and accepting that.
What’s happening in your neck of the woods? Tell us about it in the comments.
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Cheryl Carter
I can’t tell you, Amy, how many times his nibs and I have had that very same conversation. Especially about the gal who has cut our hair for over 40 years. Most of the time the cuts are ok, but once in a while, — Oh my Lord! She can make such a mess. Yet every time we think of finding someone else there’s a part of us both that says, she may not be cheap, but she KNOWS me. And THAT’S very important to us. Same thing with our mechanic. You can tell when a person calls you by your name whether it’s PR or they’re really wanting to be a part of your life. JMO, however. 😉
amy@amyharkemoore.com
Good to know we aren’t the only ones. We’re in good company! 🙂