It amazes me how the collective memory of a fun-loving laugh, a warm smile and an encouraging word, repeatedly expressed with love many years ago, can resonate as if they happened yesterday.

Growing up, I experienced these things through Dorothy “Dot” Chaney, a woman who baby-sat me starting when I was a toddler, and through most of my elementary school years. I’d stay at her home after school, before my parents came to pick me up after work. Dot has been on my mind lately, because I recently put my favorite picture of her in a frame that sits on a side table in my living room. It’s an upper torso shot, taken in downtown Chicago on a sunny day in 1968, one month after I was born. Dot’s dressed in a pale peach-colored suit, with a peasant blouse of peach, brown and beige stripes rimming the edge of her collar. She’s sporting black rectangular sunglasses, a frame whose timeless appeal still adorns faces of women from Richmond to Rome. Her expression, not quite a smile, is interested and expectant. The end result? A snazzy, mature fashion plate. Dot radiated style, and the photo captures that. The picture frame, a clear rectangle standing on end, magnifies the sense of chic even more.

Dot always had a flair for fashion. She could wear anything from a turban to a fedora with panache. Other times she would sport an ash-blonde wig, or show off her own hair, shaded light brown or auburn against her ivory skin. Her expressive brown eyes would be framed by stylish eyeglasses, and she loved to accessorize with scarves, belts and jewelry. I especially admired her Mexican peso ring, featuring a gold-framed peso suspended from a gold band. Dot gave me that ring when I graduated from high school, and I cherish it as a reminder of her.

Dot had many special qualities. Her ready smile. Her giggle. Her enthusiasm. Her desire to venture out, to live life. Each of those qualities made her a real people person. Dot loved people, and she loved to know how they were doing. She wanted to know (and typically did know) what was going on, what folks were up to. Whether you were her feisty downstairs neighbor Louise, who found little girls (like me) too noisy, or her “friend from way back when who now lived in the suburbs” Evelyn, Dot was available. No matter who you were, Dot always had a kind word and a smile for you that were real. She met you head-on and held nothing back. When you dealt with Dot, it was always straight from the heart.

Dot’s compassion for people didn’t just extend outward. The emotion started at home with her mother and son. Looking back, I know those relationships were filled with challenges, some typical and others not. Dot’s mother, Mrs. Miller, was homebound. Though she walked slowly with a slight shuffle, Mrs. Miller wasn’t frail. She had a solid, rounded body, with full hips and strong hands. Her milk-white complexion, lined with wrinkles, and her straight blond hair, typically pulled back from her face, made one think of an elderly woman from the old country. In reality she was an African American from Birmingham, Alabama, whose speech was sprinkled with Southernisms such as “plaits” for braids, “britches” for pants and “over yonder” for “over there.”

I associate Mrs. Miller with food. I remember her shucking crowder peas into a pot, and other times when she and Dot would make greens and cornbread. I remember her boxes of Ginseng Tea, imprinted with funky pictures of the Ginseng root that looked like little people. I remember her having a plastic loaf of bread, small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, with a slot on top that held little rectangular cards printed with Scriptures. Mrs. Miller also had a book, quoting Jesus from Matthew 4:4, titled “Man Shall Not Live by Bread Alone.” I had no idea what that meant back then, but the phrase somehow became etched in my memory.

Despite Mrs. Miller’s physical limitations, she had a sharp mind, a strong will and an eye that missed little. On home territory, she ruled the roost. And as with most mothers and daughters, she and Dot didn’t always agree. For starters, Mrs. Miller thought Dot spent too much on clothes. Dot couldn’t resist a great outfit or pair of shoes, and would sometimes tell me not to tell “Muh-dear” (as Dot called her mother) what Dot had bought. However, the differences did not change the fact they were very close. Though Muh-dear sometimes treated her fifty-something daughter like she was my age at the time, Dot always responded to her mother with respect and saw to her needs. Dot had a son, Mike, whom she also cared for dearly. Mike had Down’s Syndrome. Fair like his mother and grandmother, his Mongoloid features and short stature were typical of those with Down’s. Mike had black hair that curled slightly, worn in a short ponytail. Like his mom, he was a clotheshorse. Bright colors, jean shorts and traditional sneakers were among his top choices, and like most young men, he always wanted to look cool - and not be a “chump,” as he liked to say.

Also like his mom, Mike admired jewelry. Sometimes he wore a silver sun-shaped medallion on a chunky link chain. In addition, he was a pinky ring fan - an ode to his favorite Beatle Ringo Starr. The Beatle appreciation didn’t stop there - Mike also had a collection of Fab Four bobble-head dolls from their mop-top days.

Mike was already grown - or at least close to it - by the time I was born. He exuded happiness - he smiled and laughed a lot, sang along with songs on his transistor radios, and was talkative. When he talked, I often did not understand him. But his mother could. Like a mother does with a small child, Dot and Mike communicated, even when others could not relate.

Dot was openly affectionate with Mike and treated him like a regular child. When I was young, Mike went to a special school for mentally handicapped people. As he grew older, he started suffering from health problems - including a stroke - and had to stop attending. When that happened, Dot took action. Refusing to treat the circumstance as a negative, Mike became her constant travel companion, accompanying her everywhere as she explored the world.

In fact, Dot’s love for adventure (and shopping for a good fashion bargain) made being with her one of the best parts of growing up. Dot was not one for staying home. She was always on the go, even after I was grown, and she was into her 70s. Going out was always exciting. When we prepared to leave, Dot would spray on her favorite perfume, choose the outfit, eyeglasses and accessories she’d wear that day and grab her “pocketbook.” Then we would leave her apartment, located on the third floor of a courtyard walk-up, and hop into her gold Monte Carlo.

Almost as soon as the key slid into the ignition, Dot and I would go zooming down streets and highways, going here and there with the car’s black ragtop covering us and long hood stretched out before us. We’d visit malls and neighborhood shops where Dot would scour the aisles for a great new pantsuit, or a must-have pair of shoes.

One of the areas we would visit was Chicago’s southwest side, an area with a large Mexican American population. I think that’s how Dot developed a real liking for the popular Latin singer Freddy Fender. And after we shopped we ate, which for me was the highlight of the day. I especially remember the excitement of getting beef tacos and RC Colas at Pepe’s, and thinking the salty Chihuahua cheese sprinkled on top was awesome.

Wherever we went, whatever we did, it was fun. Dot was always game for going somewhere, and when we were out, she often made friends with strangers or ran into people she knew. In being with her, I saw that when you extend yourself, especially over time, people do tend to respond. Even in a world that is increasingly detached and uncaring, someone who initiates contact in a sincere way, without ulterior motives, can be irresistible. Dot projected these characteristics, striking up friendly conversations with a clerk in a store, or a fellow diner in a restaurant. She took the initiative to reach out to others in a way that seemed to bring a touch of happiness to the other person as well as herself.

Being kind can have its downside. In Matthew 10:16, Jesus calls us to be “wise as serpents and as gentle as doves.” In Dot’s willingness to reach out she sometimes trusted people who didn’t value friendship, only what they could get from her. However, God’s hand protected her from real harm. I know Dot ultimately felt it was better to serve Him by giving to others, even if it meant some would take advantage of that kindness.

Dot had burdens. An invalid mother, a son with Down’s Syndrome. But as a child growing up around her, I never sensed her feeling burdened. Like all of us, she had sad moments, but they did not dictate her attitude. She projected joy and life. Without hesitation, she made a positive contribution to the world each day through the people she encountered. Even with her mother’s passing, her son’s illnesses eventually requiring him to be permanently hospitalized, and her own failing health hindering her ability to roam as she had when I was young, Dot never became cynical or bitter. She still cared about people’s well being. She could still talk for hours on the phone with a friend, punctuating the conversation with an enthusiastic “hush your mouth!” after hearing something especially interesting, or delight in one’s visiting her on a Sunday afternoon. And she still dressed to the nines, when she knew she would not step one foot outside her door. After all those years, Dot’s desire to vibrantly interact in a Godly way with others was just as strong as it ever had been.

Dot passed away several years ago. As I reflect on her life, it shows me how a lifelong walk with Jesus Christ can have a lasting and personal impact on people. So often people - even Christians - get sidetracked by the belief that being a Christian is about following rituals and living by man-made laws. Dot’s life reminds me that real Christianity boils down to one thing - the one-on-one relationship each believer has with Jesus Christ as his or her Lord and Savior. Dot trusted Christ to give her strength, courage and love where it counts the most - on a daily basis, though the ups, downs and middle roads of life. The impact of walking with Jesus Christ is not limited to the people believers encounter directly. It also extends to those who observe believers as they interact with each another. Dot loved me, but I think I benefited even more by seeing her love for others in action. She didn’t have to try to care, or struggle to put herself in someone else’s shoes. She “went there,” time and time again. Think of the glory she gave the Father in that. It can be draining to extend one’s self for others. Conversely, it can boost our energy levels and capacity for joy, when we are equipped to do so by the power of the Holy Spirit. Dot was living proof of the latter, and the reality that nothing - time, circumstances, people or anything - has to hinder the desire and ability to truly love and care for others if we walk each day, hand in hand with Him.

©Copyright 2003 Ann Pinkney. All rights reserved.