Anonymous Acts of Charity

or fear, or shame, or just being 12.

Growing up in Dumbo in the 80’s was not normal. Or maybe I wasn’t normal, or maybe no one was or is or will ever be, but this little 7th grader had a strange obsession with throwing things out his 6th story window. Back then Dumbo was still a factory neighborhood, so after 5:00pm it was completely deserted. Maybe a few artists meandering, random groups of menacing teens from the projects, a few parked cars waiting to be vandalized, but generally silent except for the thrum of trains and cars slamming into pot holes on the Manhattan bridge overhead. I was a 12 year old child living in a giant loft, whose room was very far away from his mom and step dad with a fire escape. So I would just open my window, climb out, and man when I’d chuck things over the side, the shattering on the pitted cobblestones 100ft below scratched a real itch in me. Shatter might be one of humankind’s most cathartic verbs and with all those hormones ripping through me, and those new baby siblings I had, and my lack of any girls picking me in truth or dare, and the impending divorce that was still a couple of years off, or 8 years of Reagan, or just being a 13 year old boy, I had to get it out of my system somehow.

If you’ve never thrown a glass jar of yellow art paint out your 6th floor window I highly recommend it. The sound plus the explosion of color really is a rush. Some kids do whip-its, others tag up, or bully little chunkers, I heaved items out my window onto deserted streets below. No one got hurt, no one noticed. Planks of wood, an old turntable, light bulbs, old toys, whatever I could get my hands on. Maybe I had watched too many Gallagher comedy specials on VHS. This was my sledge-o-matic and it was way more dramatic. Did I throw a melon out my window? Of course I did, and more than one. My mom must have been sure she bought that cantaloupe, did they forget to bag it? Nope.

r.i.p. you really only had one joke, but it was a good one.

Bjork knows what I’m talking about, they must chuck things in Iceland too.

“We live on a mountain, right at the top
There's a beautiful view from the top of the mountain
Every morning I walk towards the edge
And throw little things off like car parts, bottles, and cutlery, or whatever I find lying around”

The fact that none of my downstairs neighbors ever wondered what all that noise was never occurred to me, but I was never told to stop because I was never caught. Just add it to the list of shit I got away with that I shouldn’t have. Today all the kids go to therapy and get prescriptions. Back in my day I just chucked shit out my window. Did it have the same effect? I think so. “Now tell me Seth, why do you feel the need to throw random household items out of your window?” “umm… because I too am broken inside?” “Very good, your time is up.”

So one night as I was playing Super Nintendo, or trying to fall asleep, or fantasizing about Chloe choosing me in truth or dare, I heard some yelling from outside. Down there on Water street there was a building that had a recess in the sidewalk with a steel cover over it. It was probably there so the factory basement could have windows for egress or something (pesky fire codes). It was about six feet deep and three feet wide, and under the sheet metal there was a homeless couple temporarily living there. They were not having a great night and were in the midst of quite the argument. I’d known they’d been sleeping there for a while, but tonight they were really going at it. Far be it from me, a 7th grader, six floors away, to intervene in their domestic issue, but it was getting late and I had had my fill of arguing so I felt the need to do something. On the shelf right above my desk was a giant change jar. It probably weighed about 20 pounds, and must have had at least $70 in there. I was not rich, and that money was a lot for me, but I had had the penny, nickel, dime and quarter wrappers from the bank for about a year and still hadn’t started that project. Like I said, I had Nintendo to play and girls to not kiss. So I lifted the jar off the shelf, placed it out on the fire escape and climbed out my window.

more than a bit of coin

I listened to the argument for a good while. I remember thinking that this was a real couple, really in it. Obviously very little in their lives had been going well, but they were together and in this shitty circumstance, just trying to relate to each other. I felt for them having to do this in public. I was uncomfortable listening in, and not sure about anything other than wanting the yelling to stop. So I just began pouring the change. The steady stream of US Government issued coins clanged insanely off the sheetmetal 100 feet below. The sheer volume of it up where I was, was wild, for them it must have sounded like a nuclear bomb on their heads. They stopped yelling at each other instantly. Then the guy started screaming, “what the fuck?” The torrent of change was seemingly endless, but I wasn’t going to stop what I had started. Then I heard her scream, “It’s money. It’s fucking money!” As the last few nickels and dimes of the coin Niagara Falls’ clanged off their roof, I ducked back inside before they could look up and see me. I shut my window to the sounds of them laughing wildly. Argument resolved, my work here was done.

The 12 year old brain of a boy is a strange place, and strange things happen in there. I don’t remember what my plan had been, or exactly what I was thinking, but I do remember that as I lay back in bed I was crying and I didn’t know why.

In the Jewish religion, anonymous charity is known as "matan b'seter" and is considered the highest form of giving. Was that what I was doing? Was I performing some truly honorable act, or was I simply combining two of my great loves, chucking shit out my window with my other great love conflict avoidance? I’ll choose the moral high road and saint myself these thirty-eight years after the fact.

Can I get an amen?