Naïve, Nice, or Both?

Lost among a sea of dayglow T-Shirts, plasticized mullets, and various clones of Duran Duran, Madonna, and the Cure; izod-wearin’ preppy-wanna-be-moi swam upstream against a flow of other classmates back in High School to head out to the portable classrooms for French Class. One of the few consistencies in the ever-changing nature of High School, I had sat in the same seat in the same classroom with the same teacher for a couple of years now, honing my skills to parlez avec the best of them.

 

Mrs. McNary had to be one of my favorite high school teachers. Bubbly, happy, and almost a little bit giddy, she was like the archetypal favorite-aunt-with-no-kids who loved to spoil you rotten. She genuinely loved the French language, loved teaching, and embraced the bond that developed between us all as the years progressed.

 

During one of the summertime breaks, Mrs. McNary and her husband travelled to some French-speaking country for a vacation. Either in an African country, or one of the islands, there she met a young and charming boy who would become a controversial figure in her life. Mrs. McNary became completely charmed by the young boy, whom she believed to be a sad victim of the depressed third-world nature of his upbringing. But the students in our class sensed something different - a flowery-tongued opportunist.

 

The two became international pen-pals, and Mrs. McNary used to love to read his letters out loud, and then translate them for the class. What began as a sentimental exchange of friendship, slowly turned into a plea for assistance – subtle at first, but building over time. In the beginning, he would begin to make very minor references to the challenges of living in poverty. In her reply, she would send him a little bit of money. Politely, he would write back to her in Great Big Huge Flourishy words of rejoicing and appreciation at her thoughtful gift. Oh, if ONLY such a gift could be a bit more, as it would so help him and his poor family.

 

“You’re being played!” we would communicate as a united voice. “Nonesense,” she would respond with a laugh. “My husband and I are just happy to provide a little bit of Christian charity.” Yet, as the months rolled by, I couldn’t help but feel bad about the situation. With each letter, her pen-pal spouted forth more and more sentimental words of thanks for each gift that tugged at her heartstrings, followed by a request for even more. Sometimes, he wanted money. Sometimes, he wanted stuff. He wanted clothes. He wanted a walkman. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. And with only a little bit of restraint, she kept giving in to his requests.

 

As I mentioned, my teacher acted very bubbly and giddy – almost dingy. Yet, she wasn’t an unintelligent woman. So I had to wonder – was she truly naïve, or just that much of a giving person? When one really takes a look at human behavior, there is no such thing as being 100% selfless. Truly, there isn’t. Even Mother Theresa was not completely 100% selfless. One of the motivations for her many, many, many acts of kindnesses was, after all, the salvation of her own soul. And ya know what? There’s nothing wrong with that. Truly, even the most charitable person on the planet has some measure of selfishness, even if that selfishness involves that wonderful feeling inside that comes from helping somebody else. With Mrs. McNary, I have to wonder if that is what motivated her. Again, she wasn’t stupid, but she acted incredibly naive. Then again, she and her husband had no children of their own. Maybe, in the back of their own heads, they had chosen to “adopt” this particular young man as their distant ward. Maybe they chose to willingly turn a blind eye to the idea of being so obviously played simply because it made them feel good to help someone whom, they believed, did not have the advantages that we have here in this Country.

 

After several years, I heard that Mrs. McNary began investing serious bucks into the lad who claimed that it was for him to go to school. I hope that that really IS the case, but in my gut I don’t buy into it for a second. The pattern of SWINDLE seemed so obvious over the years to the rest of us, but never to her. My greatest hope in this particular situation is that my classmates and I were wrong and that her foreign pen-pal was being legit. I don’t believe it for a second, but I can hope! Short of that, my hope is that her bubble-of-denial never bursts, and that her joy at helping-someone-in-need carried through the years.

 

Whether foolish, naïve, or willingly-deceived, what a sweet and loving woman she was. She made the world a better place.