The Thank You Man

Read this to your kids tonight (and by kids, I mean your inner selves).

“I’m the gratitude merchant,” he proclaimed. “I deal in thank yous, thank yous, and thank yous! Which would you like to have?”

I looked at him—puffy hat, straight pants, big jolly smile spread across his cheeks—and I said, “Can I get a hundred thank yous, please?”

He nodded. “Sure,” he said, reaching deep into his bag.

“How much do I owe you?”

He cut me off mid-sentence with that buggingly happy voice of his.

“I do not sell; I only exchange. Tell me thank you 100 times, and I will give you 100 thank yous back.”

I blinked, straightened my clothes, and decided; it’s a good deal.

I took off my hat and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” 100 times. As each phrase rolled off my tongue, I thought of how thankful I was for this merchant, my lunch, and the lush trees lining the street. I thought of my friends, my mom and my dad, all of whom I could say many thank yous about.

I said thank you 100 times, and he said thank you 100 times too. Then I went on my way.

I got home wondering: What does the thank you man do all day? Where does he buy his wares? Is he ever bored? Is he ever tired? Does he come home to his wife at the end of the day smelling like thank yous? Where can I study to become a thank you man? Do other thank you merchants exist?

I kept thinking of all these questions and couldn’t figure any of them out.

What industry would I put if I made him a LinkedIn page? Does he work 9 to 5 or 8 to 3? Or perhaps he does the night shift and comes home for breakfast with his kids in the morning. With a belly like his, he must be a family man; someone must be keeping it full!

Unless…he’s filling himself to the brim with all these thank yous.

I thought it would be a good idea to visit him again; to ask all my questions, to maybe be his friend.

I left my house and walked back up the streets lined with trees.

I heard him from afar.

“Thank yous, thank yous, get your brand-new thank yous here!”

People were coming up to him. I heard the jingling of coins as they tried to pay him too. I listened as I walked, the sound growing louder and louder.

I walked closer, and suddenly, he wasn’t there.

I blinked at an ornate mirror that stood in his place.

What is this big, beautiful mirror doing in the middle of the street?

I looked around. People were walking up and down, the trees were still green and rustling in the wind. Where had the thank you man gone?

I took a closer look. The mirror was familiar with its gilded facade and bronze carvings. I touched the edges and peeked inside. In the reflection, I found the gratitude merchant. I found the man who gave me a hundred thank yous.

I lifted my hand, and so did he. I took off my hat, and so did he. That’s when I saw—

The thank you man was me.

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Thank you,

Tai

, for inspiring the delightful image of a ‘thank you merchant” in my head.