MOST PRECIOUS THINGS

© 2006,2015, 2026 Carolyn R. Scheidies

I was younger then, arrogant and visiting a friend in the neighborhood. The kid was maybe six or seven, sitting outside of his house near the sidewalk under the watchful eye of his mom who peeked out the front window from time to time, but didn’t interfere with her entrepreneurial son.

The lad perched on a rickety folding chair behind a card table that had seen better days. A carefully lettered sign read FOR SALE. On the table, placed with the care of a child, were a child’s treasures: a painted rock, a few large colorful marbles, comics—not in the best of shape, three much used toy trucks, two old children’s video games—much played, and a doll without hair that he assured me belonged to his sister.

Very solemn, he told me the proceeds would go to his sister. I smiled, thinking he didn’t want me to think he played with dolls or that he’d taken her toy without permission and that he’d, of course, give her the money he earned by selling her doll.

The price on the items ranged from five to fifty cents.

“I need the money,” he said, as though that would propel me into a sale. His presentation needed work.

“Why?” I figured he planned on buying a new video game or other toy and silently applauded his efforts to earn the money. I nodded my approval at his mom, checking on her son. Was there a certain tightness in her expression?

The toys weren’t worth much, but still, something about the kid’s initiative brought forth my better instincts, and I purchased a couple comics, the painted rock and two trucks. After all, I could always dump the stuff. I left a five-dollar bill that lit up the boy’s face with such gratitude I felt guilty as though I hadn’t done enough, as though he knew what I planned to do with his “treasures.”

Picking up a video game, I threw down another dollar. “I like your initiative. I hope this will help toward that special something you’re saving for.”

The boy took my money and tucked it away in a plastic pencil box. “Thank you, Mister.” Polite, too. I was impressed, especially when he pulled out a plastic bag for my purchases.

I thought little about my “stuff,” almost embarrassed as I carried them into my friend’s house. He nodded toward the bag, and I explained how impressed I was with the initiative of his neighbor’s son. I laughed about it, until the expression on my friend’s face stopped me.

“You don’t understand.”

“What?

“He’s not earning money for himself.”

“No?” I waited, feeling I wasn’t going to like what came next. I was right.

“That little child is selling his most prized possessions because his little sister has cancer. He overheard how expensive the treatments were, way out of the reach of his family’s meager resources and decided to help out by selling the possessions that are most valuable to him.”

The bag hung like lead in my hands. I felt like I’d stolen a boy’s heart. Yet, I’d purchased them for more than their worth…or had I? How magnanimous I’d felt. Now I just felt small. Traded treasures for arrogance. As my friend filled me in, shame filled me. I choked back unmanly tears.

My friend’s words stripped away my arrogance and the veneer that had been the heart of a surgeon who once upon a time pledged to help and heal—not just feather a financial nest. I discovered the sister was a patient I’d turned down for my highly acclaimed and expensive skills because the family was unable to come up with even a smidgen of the cost for the expensive surgery needed

That day changed my life. I called my office and scheduled an appointment with the family’s doctor. As I set things in motion, I discovered something I’d forgotten--life isn’t all about getting; it’s about giving, sacrificing that others might live.

The little girl came through the surgery, her brother ever vigilant and protective of his little sister. As for me who seldom took time for others? I found something more valuable than a kid’s toys. I found out that, after all, life is not only for giving, it is also for living—every day to its fullest. 

Little choices can change everything. Tomorrow I welcome that loving brother as a new surgeon to my clinic, a clinic dedicated to helping regardless of financial means. A fitting end, I think, to a little boy’s determination to help his sister by selling his MOST PRECIOUS THINGS.