“Is this really of any worth?” The left hemisphere of his brain frequently provoked him, ever since he had received the birthday gift from Hazel, his director. “This time she actually made a lackluster show”, he said to himself taking one more look at the gift, probably for the hundredth time.
He knew it well that her gift did not carry much worth, but he didn’t want to accept the fact.
He was cognizant that his director valued his service. If she didn’t, why should she promote him as her protégé among her professional circle? Some of her colleagues openly told him about her appreciation for him, quoting her words: “He is a new lease of fresh breath in my department.”
She herself had confided to him frequently that without his managerial skills and loyalty, it would be difficult to run the department.
Basing on his experience of receiving expensive gifts that she bestowed on him as tokens of her appreciation in the past, he expected a topper at this time. A costlier one, such as ‘Giorgio Armani,’ his favourite cologne, Louis Jadot Gevrey-Chambertin, a shiny-cherry red classy French wine, or at least a gift card from the “Hudson Bay” where he shopped week in and week out.
“After all, this is a milestone birthday of mine”, his inner soliloquy continued endlessly as he attempted to preen himself for a last time in front of the mirror, before leaving for work.
True to his instinct, the first enquiry his director made at the one-to-one operational meeting was about the birthday gift. As a rule of thumb, he never lied to her, even on questions pertaining to his personal life. Following the same principle, he said to her candidly: “I am not an artist, but a pencil is very useful for me because I use it regularly to underline the books I read. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, thank you.”
Strangely, after uttering those words, he felt that he was not very comfortable about what he had said. His own words seemed to betray him, as they sounded surreptitiously diplomatic. He didn’t like the tone of it, particularly, the touch of alienation it highlighted between what he felt and what he said.
Noticeably, she seemed to tune into his discomfort. After remaining silent for a little while at the underlying shadiness his words projected, she began to speak: “I gave you a pencil with an eraser!” Drawn by the precision of her words, he felt he was being instantly filled with a mixed bag of emotions, both bewilderment and curiosity.
His emotions revolved primarily around the name she had used for the gift. He had been calling it as a ‘pencil’ but she thoughtfully called it ‘a pencil with an eraser!’
“Wait a minute, I know what a pencil with an eraser is,” his rebellious voice of self-talk sneaked out fitfully. “I know the history of its beginnings too! On March 30th 1858, Hyman Lipman, a Philadelphia based inventor, patented it. But whether it is called a ‘pencil’ or a ‘pencil with an eraser’, how does it add any worth on my birthday gift?”
His director’s voice once again abruptly broke the flow of his self-talk as she continued speaking, “I must confess that it is an inexpensive gift. But this was the same gift my dad gave to me on my eighteenth birthday. And it changed my outlook towards life!”
He observed her face all of a sudden beaming with a shade of glow.
After a short pause she continued: “Like you, I too, initially mistook it for its worth. But my dad had a different intention, altogether, in giving it to me. As a young woman I was oversensitive about my words and actions. I struggled with my shortcomings and failures. And I still do! My hypersensitivity altered myself to be overly judgmental and less self-forgiving. By giving a pencil with an eraser, my dad taught me a valuable lesson: I don’t have to be very critical and unforgiving of myself in life. His gift continues to remind me that making mistakes is part of being human. But what is equally human is also that we erase our mistakes by truly forgiving ourselves. The secret of life lies in our ability to start fresh again.”
Her voice took an intimate tone, as she continued: “I see a reflection of myself in you. You struggle, I know, with self-forgiveness, particularly, when you fall short of being perfect. I thought that a reminder of self-forgiveness would be a great gift for you on your fortieth, milestone birthday. So, the pencil with an eraser!”
Her voice faded abruptly with unbounded silence. She said nothing more!
Dumfounded by the surprising candour of her words, he sat with her in the solace of silence, in the absolute absence of words.
His gaze, though, seemed to make a silent but a more powerful non-verbal communication: “Nothing more significant, valuable and expensive than this, could anyone have gifted to me!”
∎
