The other day I watched a video online of a man surprising several homeless people by bringing them food. None of them had asked for it.
They were shocked as he approached them wherever them were; sitting against a wall or laying alongside a walkway.
What captured me most about this video was that,
instead of just thrusting a paper bag from a fast-food restaurant in their hands and then patting himself on the back as he turned and walked away,
he had dressed as a waiter, shined up best shoes,
and was presenting a beautiful, hot meal to them on a restaurant tray.
As he approached these unsuspecting folks, he took on a waiter’s tone,
and he acted as if they were in a fine-dining establishment;
As if they were his most esteemed guest that day.
Each one of them looked around at first, stunned, as suddenly there he was,
with his straight part and towel on his arm, saying,
“And here is your chicken and fresh seasonal vegetables, Ma’am. It will be followed by a fresh dessert course.”
I studied the faces of each of them;
At first, clearly feeling like it had to be a joke, or a huge mistake,
but then how each of them smiled, and sat up a little straighter as they were handed their actual silverware and their shiny glass plate.
I wondered how long it had been since someone had treated them like that,
or if anyone ever had up until that day.
I wondered how often they had felt treated like a person with value.
How often they were given eye contact as shoppers hurried on their own way.
“Preserved Dignity.” I thought, as tears rolled down my cheek afterwards.
That was the thing I had boiled it all down to.
A thing that I so dearly love to see, and hope to extend.
A torch I hope my girls run with long after me.
I thought about how for years my mom has made it a point to ask homeless people their name. She remembers them all in case they ever meet again, and just in the asking you can see the people stand up more straight.
It’s such a simple thing to give to someone:
To treat them as if their life matters, too.
Someone else’s son. Someone else’s mom.
Someone with dreams that fell through their hands somewhere along the way.
A few days ago, the girls and I went with my husband, Justin, out shopping for some new work shoes.
The kids wandered around the store as I did the job that I never really love of helping him pick sensible ones that he won’t hate.
Once we got to the register, standing in front of us was an old man in his 80’s at least.
He stood with his wife as she paid for some shoes, and he leaned to whisper something in the wait.
“Pardon me,” she said afterwards to the cashier.
“Do you have a restroom?”
The girl answered a flat, “It’s just for employees,” without even lifting her eyes to take into account their age.
The couple shuffled out, and then we bought Justin’s shoes, called the girls and exited to the outside.
Right away we noticed the couple was parked right beside us,
but as we approached, the man turned from behind the open door on his driver’s side.
His smile was odd and frozen, panicked almost, and he had pleading eyes.
The girls just walked past to our car and climbed inside never noticing that
as he had frozen there, not knowing what to do,
under him was growing a puddle.
He had wet himself, and was pleading with his eyes a look that said to me,
“Please don’t look down. Please don’t laugh and point. Please see the man I used to be.”
We simply nodded and smiled, and told him to have a nice day, never letting on what we had seen;
Told the girls no comments or disgusted faces. We simply got in and drove away.
His wife came around and helped him sit on a towel.
It seemed as if she’d done it before,
and I’ll never forget his eyes locked with mine from over the top of that open car door or what it meant to me.
The drive home that day, and the video I’d watched this week, gave rise to an important conversation on the way home:
Those people you’re tempted to judge, or laugh at because of where or how they stand
could so easily be you one day,
So, whenever you can, offer grace and empathy to the world.
Preserve dignity,
and hold it out on a tray.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
