My friend Anita, over at Beyond the Diapers and Spills, wrote a really thought provoking post about panhandlers and whether to give or not to give. I struggle with this one, believe me. I’ve been always been taught to think of my fellow man, to help those less fortunate, to give back to community. For the most part, however, all of that giving has been on a much larger, anonymous scale. As a Girl Scout, I we had coat drives, and we participated in the Angel Tree project. I’ve done community service projects through my sorority like giving to the Foodbanks and donating toiletries to the homeless. Those are situations where there really isn’t a person, a face, an outstretched hand imploring for help. You’re serving an idea, a cause and you feel good about having given your time and energy to that end
On my daily route to pick Morgan up from school, I’ve noticed a guy holding a “Homeless Veteran” sign at the exit ramp off of the highway. If it weren’t for the camouflage rain parka and his low-riding, dirt smeared baseball cap, you might think it was a very lean, out of work Santa Claus. He sits on this bucket day after day, holding his sign and waiting. His position is at the foot of a traffic light, so when the light is red, cars have no choice but to idle right next to him. He sits on his bucket unless something is proffered. While I wouldn’t lean out of the car and hand him some money, I have been tempted to give him some of the snacks I usually have on hand. Considering I leave the house like Matthew Henson going on an expedition, there’s always a snack in the car. I just haven’t gotten up the guts to roll down the window and give it away.
Truth be told, I’m scared. I’m a suburbanite through and through. I will cross the street, clutching my purse if I even think the Cub Scout coming towards me has a five o’clock shadow. I don’t think my fears are unfounded. This person may have a desperation that exceeds rational thought. I mean, what if I roll down the window and he makes a grab for my purse? For me? What if he tries to get in the car? Whipping a can of soda and a brown bag lunch at his head while I burn through the light probably undermines the whole charitable giving idea, you know?
If I do ever muster up the guts to give something, I feel better about getting food than money because who knows what the money is going for. I’ll admit it, I can be a Scrooge when it comes to parting with my dollars. I think everything should cost $20 or less and am always stung when it rings up otherwise.
The other day, I dropped the girls off at swimming lessons and carried myself over to the Starbucks drive-through for a late afternoon caffeine fix. I pulled into the parking lot when this well dressed guy in a Toyota or some such flags me down. He angles his car such that I can’t pull forward and then he rolls down his window, indicating for me to do the same. I pinch it down just low enough to stick out my nose and he lays on me this story: He was from Farmville, lost on his way from a job interview, had no money for gas, had been to the gas station next to the S-bucks and they couldn’t help him and blah, blah, blah. I was about to say “Sorry, can’t help you, ” or my standard, “I don’t carry cash,” which is often true, but then, I saw there was a baby seat in back of his car. No baby in it, just the car seat. Call it maternal instinct, call it stupidity, I forked over $5 and said, “Get home safely”. Then I wheeled into the drive through.
He was far from the stereotypical panhandler; he was well dressed, he was pleading his case using SAT words and his voice was breaking in desperation. Or he was just a excellent actor. Was getting up of of a Lincoln the worst part of my day? No. Didn’t I still get my coffee? Yes. But I felt more like I’d lost $5 then having helped someone in need. I think I just gave him the money so that I could get him out of my way and I could get my coffee. I didn’t feel overwhelming good about myself for helping this stranger. Part of me expected him to be in the Starbucks ordering a Venti, sugar-free, non-fat, vanilla, soy, double shot, decaf, no foam, extra hot, Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha with light whip and extra syrup so that I could just say, “AHA! I knew!” Part of me was super relieved that he wasn’t.
I wasn’t looking for thanks (he did give me several “God bless you’s”, though). I wasn’t looking for soul shining redemption for my myriad of foibles. As I think about it, maybe the point of helping those less fortunate, of seeing them live and up close in dire straits is being – moved to act. The discomfort you feel spurs you into action.
But shouldn’t doing a good deed make you feel. . . well, good? I’m sure there will be other opportunities for me to be a good Samaritan. I hope my conviction is restored when that time comes.
