In acts of chivalry – just as in its associated emotions and traits of passion, respect, kindness, valour, and honour – the proof of the pudding is in the smallest, subtlest tastes.  The smallest acts should possess more value than the largest in the grand scheme of things because they are more regular, more frequent, and thus more telling of one's mettle.
   
    If there is a grand ledger in the afterlife – whichever afterlife tickles your fancy – then it will account every action big and small.  I am of the mind that the small actions themselves build upon one another and ensure that when a large action is required, a person will act rightly at the cusp of the event, they will grok the truth (I speak with a Martian twang here, as [Michael Valentine Smith] was right in so many ways).  Right action is learned, it is not innate, as anthropology can illustrate there are many interpretations of many acts, and we cannot say any one thing is inhuman, simply un-western (or un-American, if you prefer a hegemonic twist). 
    I do not know how I might act at the cusp of a large event, if when the time comes and I must wade into the frosty and choppy seas of fate to save a person – and possibly die trying – if I will do it.  What I do know, from past experience, is that at the cusp of many small events, with help from family and friends, I have ensured right action as I saw fit.

    My brother and I have stopped a mugging in progress, ensuring a good young man named Lance went at least physically unscathed, if not a little mentally traumatised (and I assure you, his mother was relieved to know good deeds do still happen).  I know they never caught the perpetrator, but that is of secondary importance to simply stopping him.
    I have made sure to help a man whose gas tank was empty, pushing his car a good distance and sending him on his way.  It was quite cold out – oddly frosty – and I still feel warm knowing I helped. 
    I didn’t know either of these people; I learned Lance’s name only from his happy mother as we sat in a Police Station to tell our tales, and the man with the car, well, I shall never know who he was, and he shall never know my name.  But must I know a man to help a man?  Certainly not, it was a little thing to help, proof of mettle.

    Then there are the little things we do for friends and family.  Abandoning our own work, play, sleep, or food to make sure those we love are taken care of.  Last night (and this being the event that spurred me on to right this blog entry) I took right action and would not allow a woman to walk home at two in the morning.  She is my friend, and the woman my best friend cares deeply for.
    I’ve known Emily for half my life, or close to it, and now that I finally drive, would not allow her to walk the several kilometres from the train station to her home; our municipality is safe by many standards, but I don’t trust it, as I know crime is on the rise.  The act was not chauvinistic; I didn’t do it because she was a girl.  A man walking those streets has fear of muggings and assaults; a woman has fears of those things, plus rape.  If Emily had been Emil, I would still have helped.  It’s those little things we do to help.

    Reading this, you might think I am tooting my own horn, some form of digital penile enhancement to make myself feel better.  I won’t claim altruism, so indeed there is some ego stroking going on.  But even more, I hope anyone who reads this can ask themselves: Do I grok right action?  When a little thing that seems silly occurs, do you jump on it like a live grenade and take it like a god damned cape wearing hero?  I know my brother does, I know I do, I know that my best friend does and I know many others do.  But that is a thinly veiled survey group, I just hope more do it than I cynically believe, or more will after they read my words.

    I’ve had my share of preaching for the day, Excelsior, may the force be with you, Godspeed et cetera et al ad naseum, toodles.