As I've gotten older I've come to see that every day we are given chances to do the right thing. As Jungian Psychiatrist Jean Shinoda Bolen notes in her book Crossing to Avalon, we are constantly presented with opportunities to help someone else move forward, and we are free to accept or reject these opportunities. If we refuse the offer, another will come along shortly. Right now I'm hoping for my second chance.
The first two chances came several weeks ago. One weekday as I drove home from work, I saw a kid who looked like he was 15 or 16 standing at the I-5 North entrance at Mill Plain, thumb out in the hitch hiker's familiar gesture. This particular intersection always has someone with a sign, so the reason I noticed this guy was that he looked like my son at 15 - skinny, lanky, long floppy blond hair, wearing a dirty coat. The expression on his face looked sad and discouraged, like he'd lost any hope of someone offering him a lift, or anything else.
Statistically, most young people who are on the road or homeless are in that position because of an abusive situation at home. I remember thinking what would make this kid stand out here in such crappy weather? and concluding that he must be running away from an intolerable situation.
He looked just like my kid four years ago. In other, less fortunate circumstances, he could have been my kid. But I didn't stop. Why not? Conditioning? Having been raised in a comfortable middle-class background that assumes that anyone hitchhiking by the freeway is bad news?
Later that week as I was driving to a local shopping outlet to pick something up, I passed a young man by the side of the busy 6-lane arterial holding a sign that read "Diapers, formula, food - anything will help." Like the blond boy by I-5, he too wore a disheartened look. As I sped along toward the frantic intersection I noticed a battered pink backpack on the sidewalk by the stoplight.
Along the major boulevard on which I was driving was a shopping strip with an urban mega-church whose name I recognized from stickers on local bumpers. Along with me, everyone zipping out of the parking lot was barreling right past the young man. To be fair, rain was pouring down in sheets and visibility was bad. But still, someone besides myself must have seen him.
As with the boy on I-5, I didn't stop. The irony is that I'd just come from a meeting for volunteers who had signed up for a shift at the Winter Housing Overflow (WHO) family shelter in my city. I was ready to help homeless families at the temporary shelter at St. Andrew's but apparently not ready to offer unplanned help in the midst of my day.
I still think about the blond boy because in other circumstances he might have been my boy. And I think about the young man asking for diapers and formula because in other circumstances he might have been me.
If I'd stopped for either of them, I don't know what I could have done to offer long-term relief. But maybe that isn't the point. Maybe the point is the offer. Stopping and inquiring would have let both young men know that they weren't alone. Something as simple as giving a ride to the nearest warehouse store like Costco and a making a quick stop inside to buy a few items might have only been a band-aid in terms of material needs but it would have let the guy know that someone noticed him.
I vividly remember one dark wet January afternoon in Seattle. I'd graduated from college and was looking for a job - any job, not just one in my field. Even McDonald's wasn't hiring. This was 1982 and someone had put up a billboard on the outskirts of the city reading Will the Last Person Leaving Seattle Please Turn Out the Lights? I didn't know how I was going to get food for the next few days, let alone pay the next month's rent. As I walked along I suddenly saw a $5 bill on the pavement. It was close to midnight and no one else was around. I took it. With it I was able to buy 2 weeks' worth of really basic food (rice, lentils and potatoes) which lasted until I finally received a paycheck from a temp agency.
Most often, bills don't appear on the sidewalk. In that case, if someone doesn't offer help, the person needing help may lose whatever foothold he has. Maybe I'm called to be someone's $5 bill, the person whose help gets him or her over a particularly bad hump.
Next time I'll be paying attention. Especially if it's a skinny kid in a grubby coat.
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