As she stared, tears formed. Then slowly fell, drop by drop. The hollow in the pit of her chest grew tighter. He read, “… you probably never knew how many lives you touched …”
Lynne Thigpen was an actress extraordinaire.
She died this March.
Last Saturday The District, in which she starred, killed off her character and said good-bye. At the end Craig T. Nelson, read those words he wrote …
“… you probably never knew how many lives you touched …”
I was one of those lives.
I didn’t know her. She didn’t know me. But she touched me.
I first saw her on Broadway. She wasn’t pretty. Didn’t have a body to die for. But she had - “it.” That quiet presence that stated, without any equivocation, “I know who I am and whose I am. You don’t define me. But let me help you define yourself.” This average looking woman who could have easily fit into any of our families imbued every character she played with such dignity and hope, you felt dignity and hope. If she were in a movie or on tv, you watched, just because she was in it. And she looked like she had fun doing it.
Okay some of you are laughing and thinking – those were characters. Get a life, or some help.
Okay be uppity. But do not pretend you NEVER fantasized about an actor (my man is Denzel or I love Halle) or singer (Maxwell’s singing to me). That’s worse. So don’t go there.
We all have this incredible power to touch others. The big ways we remember, but the little things we do sometimes have the biggest and longest impact. And are done without thought, just reaction.
On one forgetful birthday when everyone else forgot it too, I was low. Until I’d had enough. So I left work.
In the elevator was a down and out old woman with two heavy shopping bags. So at the lobby I held the elevator door. (Probably cuz my mama taught me right.) And even though she was slow, I didn’t push past her, and also held open the building door. She walked slowly.
The sidewalks were crowded because it was lunchtime. Probably for the same mama reason as before, I asked her if I could help. She said yes (trusting devil), so I carried both bags across the street to the bus stop. Waited till the bus came (I’d left work, remember). Helped her on. And the bus driver (shock shock) was courteous enough to let me help her to a seat without pulling away from the curb. Despite my still slightly bad mood, I smiled and told her to have a good day. She looked me in the eye, sincerely thanked me, and told me to have a good day. By the time I got to my car my attitude was ‘daggone it it’s my birthday and I will have a great time.’ Her sincerity touched me.
There has never been another birthday that I have not thought of that old woman. How she is. If she’s still alive. And rethanked her – because since then, I’ve never under appreciated the importance of my birth day, regardless of what friends and family don’t do.
Then there was the guy who just met me and gave me tickets to an expensive art showing; because he found out I loved art. He wanted nothing in return. He just did it, because he could. I learned unselfish giving, even if not practiced as often as I should. I still wish him well and still try to steer business his way.
Or this past weekend when a friend who I didn’t think paid any attention to this column (because we’re as different as night and day – I’m always right and he’s always wrong), sent me an important email about marketing ezines. He knew this commentary was important to me. I’m shocked, but appreciative. That little gesture meant a lot.
We give smiles to total strangers.
Let someone with fewer groceries in front of our full cart.
Not flown into road rage when someone cut in front of us and then looks at us apologetically.
These little things can make the biggest impression even though we are unaware.
Lynne Thigpen did that.
The old woman did that.
You and I do that.
Kinda scary isn’t it?
Makes you want to act more responsibly.
