What Are Examples Of Paying It Forward?

"You took everything I ever loved ever since we were children! Congratulations, you've done it again!"Cordy Sachs had given up on her lover of three years, deciding to go celibate and never to love again… only for a six-year-old child to appear in her life, sweetly coaxing her to 'go home' with him.Having to face the rich, handsome but tyrannical CEO 'husband', she was forthright. "I've been hurt by men before. You won't find me trusting."Mr. Levine raised a brow. "Don't compare me to scum!"..."Even if everyone claimed that he was cold and that he kept people at arms' reach, only Cordy knew how horrifically rotten he was on the inside!

We had been married for three years, and together, our income was decent at twenty-six grand a month. Yet, we barely had two hundred bucks in savings. My husband was a nice guy, lending practically his entire wages to our next-door widow and her daughter. He covered their expenses when the daughter needed money for school, when the widow needed a little time at the spa, and when they wanted to give their home a new facelift. The moment my father fell ill and needed surgery, I went next door to ask for the money back. However, my neighbors slammed the door in my face. “Your husband chose to give us the money. Why should we pay you back?” Enraged, I sought help from my husband, only to be criticized. “I felt bad for them. Why did you demand payment when they are already struggling? What’s wrong with you?” I smirked. That night, I decided to do a good deed by spending my entire paycheck to help a broke college hunk. The next day, our power was cut off for unpaid bills, and my husband lost an unfinished document he hadn’t saved. Putting his finger up my nose, he gave me a piece of his mind. “Where’s your money? Why didn’t you pay the bills?” I replied with the most innocent look on my face, “I helped a struggling college student. His life was falling apart because he had to deal with a sick mom and a deadbeat dad. His needs should come before the utility bills.”

Mom had one rule, and she never let it go: one good deed a day. When I was little, I saved my allowance for an entire year to buy a doll. Then some girl beside me whispered that she wanted one too, and Mom ripped it out of my arms. "Do one good deed a day. Give her the doll." Later, I barely made it into the best high school in the county. I didn't even get to be happy before Mom told me she'd already signed me up for trade school. "Do one good deed a day. The girl who just missed the cutoff is poor. Give her your spot." Later, at trade school, my roommates stole every cent I had for food and rent. I called Mom, sobbing. "Do one good deed every day. Giving them your money still counts as doing something good." Later, I got a part-time job and ended up sold as a bride to some family way out in the sticks. I texted Mom, begging her to save me. Her reply popped up a second later. [Marriage means sticking it out. Give them a healthy baby boy, and that should cover ten years of good deeds.]

My mom has been brainwashing me with her "quid pro quo" rule. Apparently, I must work hard in earning money just to get whatever I want. A round of doing the dishes earns me 50 cents. Mopping the floor once grants me one dollar. If I get a full score in my exams, that'll be five dollars. In order to buy a pair of white sneakers that I had had my eye on for a long time, I spent three months picking up trash from the streets. I lived like a maid who was paid on one-time services in this home. When I was a high school senior, I fainted during my homeroom period due to long periods of malnutrition. Even though my doctor suggested to my mom to pay attention to my nutrient intake, she began calculating the costs in front of my sick bed instead. "Your hospitalization costs 300 dollars. On top of that, you have a 200-dollar medical bill to settle. All of these costs will be reflected on your wedding gifts in the future, Emily." But when I turned my head, I saw a student sitting on the bed being fed chicken noodle soup by her own mother. Said mother was so heartbroken by her daughter's illness that she kept shedding tears as well. At that moment, my outlook on the world, that I had been maintaining for 18 long years, finally crumbled into dust. It turned out that not all children needed to work hard just to feel their parents' love. After getting discharged from the hospital and returning home, I finally sobered up the moment I noticed the sneakers that my younger brother, Arnold Baird, wore that cost several thousands of dollars. Then, I tore the family portrait into pieces and didn't hesitate to fill in the university that was located the furthest from home when it was time for me to submit my post-graduation details. Ten years later, my mom calls me on the phone. She starts crying to me how Arnold has swindled her out of her pension. Apparently, he's even sold the house just so he can elope with his girlfriend. Not only is my mom alone now, but she doesn't have a place to stay as well. I just smile as I throw her a piece of rag. "You want to live with me, huh? No problem. You'll earn 50 cents for every window you wipe. You can earn your rent like this."

When I'm in my senior year of high school, my mom, Bethany Stout, is diagnosed with uremia. Even after our family sells the house, we are still 300,000 dollars short on the dialysis fee. I pack my bags overnight, ready to go to work on an assembly line at an electronics factory. The class belle, Natasha Ferris, grabs my shirt tightly at the train station ticket gate. She's someone who usually blushes even when speaking a little loudly, but that day she forces a bank card into my hand. "The password is your birthday. Consider the money a loan. You're not allowed to miss the SAT." I say I may never be able to pay this money back in my entire life. With red-rimmed eyes, she scolds me, "Then pay me back slowly, but you cannot ruin your life just like this." Throughout the four years of college, she transfers me 800 dollars for food every single month without fail, and the note is always "eat more meat". Mom survives the kidney transplant surgery, and I also secure a guaranteed admission and enter a top-tier company. But Natasha cuts off all contact without any warning. Eight years later, I am the youngest partner at the major company, with an annual salary of ten million dollars. Yet, Natasha's name appears in a mockery video of a local matchmaking group. "Not only is this woman already 30 years old and has a sick mother, but she's also demanding 100,000 dollars as a wedding gift? Is she crazy or what?" When I watch the person in the video wearing old clothes, head lowered while enduring people's criticism, my eyes sting with tears. I push aside the signing ceremony for a ten-million-dollar project and pick up the bank card and my Social Security card. This time, it is my turn to catch Natasha when she falls.

From the time I was ten until I turned eighteen, my parents made me write 299 IOUs. Every time I needed money, I had to borrow it and pay it back as an adult. Then I got into a car accident. I needed money for surgery but was still short by 3,000. With no other options, I went to my parents for help. But they just gave me cold smiles. “Clara, you’re eighteen now. We have no obligation to give you money anymore. If you need it, write another IOU.” While holding back tears, I wrote my 300th IOU. After my surgery, I saw my adopted sister’s social media post. In the pictures, she was celebrating her 18th birthday on a cruise. She was the center of attention, like a princess. My parents had given her a luxury apartment in the city and a Maserati as birthday gifts. Even my childhood friend was looking at her with love in his eyes. She said they were the ones she loved and thanked them for giving her the best of everything. I looked down at the crumpled IOU in my hand and suddenly laughed. Once I paid off my debt, I would no longer need such a family.