Some men take and only take. Others give and only give. No mother tells her son to beware the takers. It’s almost too obvious. But she certainly tells her son to never *be* a taker. “Make sure to share,” she’ll say, and by that word she’ll plant a seed. Takers are the villains of this world, and givers are the heroes.
If he’s not careful, he might believe it, and not just implicitly. He’ll see a piece of fruit on the table, but he’ll be afraid to take and eat it. He’ll find a nickel on the ground, but he’ll hesitate before picking it up, looking for ways to give it away. He’ll become generous, and that’s good. Better than anything, in fact. Generosity is a crowning virtue, and it is good that he found it. Until he meets a taker.
Mother was so focused on making sure her son didn’t become a taker. She was so sure that she didn’t have to tell him to beware the takers. It was too obvious. A waste of breath. But sometimes we forget what we didn’t used to know. It’s been too long. So her boy runs into a taker, and one of the bad ones at that. The kind that takes and only takes. And he’ll take from him. His food for the day. His joy for the day. His-self respect for a season.
But it doesn’t have to be like this. If the boy is lucky, he’ll have a father. If he’s very lucky, a good one. And if he’s the luckiest boy in the world, his father will encourage him to take, but only honorably. He probably won’t use the word, but he’ll tell him nonetheless: “don’t go easy on him,” “push, son, you can win,” and “if they want to come in first, they’ll have to go through you.” While mother always told her son to give, father tells him to take.
And when he meets a taker, the bad kind, the kind that takes and only takes, he won’t flinch. He’s been in contests all his life, and the instinct to push back is mature. More than that, because the boy knows how to give, he has friends. Friends he loves. He has something to push back for, and his taking is a hundred times stronger for it. No taker can take from a give-and-taker.