Alexander‘s mother is really a very nice woman, and she does mean well, but she has gotten me into a very uncomfortable predicament! For some reason, she feels that I am somehow responsible for reforming her boy, and is determined to smother me with gratitude. Of course, she flatly disbelieved Alexander‘s story about traveling to the moon with me (ridicule has since taught him to keep that story to himself), but she has noticed the correlation between the dramatic change in Alexander‘s character and his association with me. So, she has made an unwarranted and spectacular leap to the conclusion that I have somehow brought this all about.

I tried to explain to her, to no avail, that the transformation she has witnessed in Alexander is only the flowering of qualities that already existed within him. If you water a field, nothing sprouts that wasn‘t already planted there! Wisdom cannot be imparted, it can only be cultivated; and it will not grow at all if the ground is not fertile.

Character flaws may result from defective upbringing, inadequate upbringing, personal limitations, social deprivation, or even conscious personal choice. Excellence of character, such as is now evident in Alexander, derive from a native wisdom to recognize and seize what is good. Alexander‘s past failures can be attributed to many causes, but his present success derives solely from the quality of his own soul. So I did not influence or change him at all. But she won‘t hear of it! In her eyes I am a holy personage, and greatly revered.

She is kind and she means well; but if she is right, I am a miserable failure! For if I succeeded once in Alexander, I failed twice in his one-time companions Luther and Plato.

Last week she insisted that I come to Sunday dinner immediately after church; and that included an invitation to church.
Church was professionally interesting, but there was nothing to file a report about. The singing was loud, the praying was loud, the speech in the middle was loud, and the whole thing was punctuated by hand clapping and shouts! But everything had its time and its place, and it was as orderly as it was noisy. I just did what everyone else did, and blended in very easily.

The one thing that did stick in my mind was the brief Appeal For Money. The appeal itself was very understandable. It is quite obvious that any organization whose financial support derives from donations will need to solicit them from time to time; this much is syllogistically clear. I must confess that I don‘t particularly enjoy having people solicit me for donations to worthy causes; but I recognize the need.
What struck me as odd was this business of deductions from income tax. There was also some concern that new tax laws might result in fewer donations. Since I work for minimum wage, my income is very low; so I have very little knowledge of what this was all about.

After the church service, there was a social time during which I, as a visitor, had little to do. So I collared an officious-looking gentleman and asked him what was meant by this. He told me something to the effect that the church would give each donor a receipt for his gifts at the end of the year, and this amount could be deducted from income before calculating the tax that is owed.

But then it is not a true gift! I protested. But he only looked at me strangely and went about the enjoyable business of shaking people‘s hands.

Before long, I found myself sitting at the dining room table with Alexander‘s family. Every effort had been made to make things elegant. There was a special table cloth, fancy dishes, complicated recipes; in short, a feast fit for a librarian! To my discomfort, I discovered that I was the center of attention. (This limited my access to the salt shaker. It‘s hard for a Homelander to avoid sodium depletion when half the Earth believes that sodium is poison.)

Eventually, somebody brought it up. Why did you say that to the reverend? Of course, I had momentarily forgotten what a reverend was, never having encountered one outside an anthropology book; but in the ensuing discussion I found out. The officious-looking gentleman was the reverend.

It is very simple, I said, and began a demonstration. I fished around in my pocket for a small coin. I handed it to Alexander, who was seated next to me. Suppose I give Alexander this ten cent piece and tell him to keep it and never pay me back. I looked around the room at all the attentive faces. We could call this a gift, even if it is a very small one. They nodded agreement; this was obvious.

But I don‘t want your dime, Alexander said, take it back.

Excellent! I proclaimed, retrieving my ten cent piece from Alexander‘s palm. You have paid me back! Now we are even, right?nAlexander nodded.

This is my point, I explained, it isn‘t a gift anymore. If I give you something, and you give me something back of value, then we have a trade, and a trade is not a gift. Everyone looked at me blankly.

So what does this have to do with what you told the reverend this morning? Alexander‘s mother asked respectfully.

Simple, I said, if I accept a receipt which allows me to get something back from the government, then I have traded money to the church for tax advantage from the government. I have given no gift. A gift is when you give something and get nothing back.

Some relative of Alexander‘s spoke up, Then the richer folk that take their tithe off of their income tax have no virtue in their giving! It‘s only the poor folk that give and get no deducting who have true virtue!

I commended the woman for her wise insight. This commenced a lengthy and serious discussion. At the end of it they held me in even greater awe.

I never cease to be amazed at the Human obsession for reciprocity. A human giver always seems to want something in return!