The 65-plus softball game had finished in 91-degree heat at noontime when I trudged – stinky and sweaty — to the parking lot along a main suburban street. I sensed the heat reflecting from the pavement and the stickiness of my T-shirt as I looked to the darkening western sky. A thundershower was imminent.
I was about to climb into my truck when I spotted a woman pushing a flimsy, folding shopping cart – a thin metal one that seemed like it would collapse with the next revolution of the wheels. The humid air made the afternoon heat unbearable.
So I called out.
“It’s 91. How about a lift?’’
“Oh, I’d love that,’’ she called, her pace energized by my offer.
This raised the decades-old debate in my household and I’m sure across the country – Is a random act of kindness to a stranger creepy? Should we keep to ourselves and leave people alone for fear that something bad might happen?
We all perform small gestures of kindness. I’ve run my snowblower up and down my neighbors’ driveway when I knew they were ill or working. I have run friends to the airport so they don’t squander cash on a week of parking fees. My PIE Network has given apple pies to people who lose a parent or break a bone or welcome a grandchild.
But those are people I know. What about perfect strangers?
There’s a lot of unknowns. Do they understand your motivation? Is the timing right? Do they carry emotional baggage from a previous encounter?
Frankly, I never consider that. I just have a cassette tape (that’s an age thing) looping in my head. Eileen Holleran’s mantra is playing: “Treat people the way you’d like to be treated.’’
Societal norms have been altered in the past few decades. I don’t pick up hitchhikers because there are too many unknowns. We’ve all seen made-for-TV movies with a gun-toting robber or knife-wielding slasher. I was warned about a month ago by a high school acquaintance of the dangers of terrorist sleeper cells. Geez, I can’t imagine living in needless fear as if it’s a daily threat.
Occasionally, 20 years ago, I would take about six of my “good behavior’’ fourth-graders in the family minivan to the $1 movies on early-dismissal Wednesdays. It boosted classroom morale and gave the others something to work toward. Sadly, that ended. The admission has since risen to $6 and school districts don’t allow teachers to drive students anywhere, anytime for liability reasons. I get that, but something is lost in our litigious society.
But I left the classroom in 2013 so Mary frequently reminds me when I reach into my pocket for a gift of bubblegum: “You’re not at school anymore. Don’t be the creepy old guy.’’ Still, a measure of kindness has been lost from our society.
When you work in an elementary school, you learn to engage children – smile, stoop to their eye level, ask them questions, issue generous compliments. Children would spontaneously hug you.
Those scenes still happen when I install beds for Sleep In Heavenly Peace. The children are overwhelmed because each bed is so large – 75-inch wooden frames complete with mattresses, pillows, bedding and colorful comforters adorned with princesses or superheroes. The joy and excitement of the children would melt your heart. So they want to hug you. I look first to the parent for a nod of approval.
Do we have to be so wooden? Something is different in society. It’s a far cry from “be home when the streetlights come on,’’ and every mother watched out for the neighborhood children and her word was respected and unquestioned.
Back to my ridesharing offer. As I helped Cindy tuck her bags behind the seat and stow her cart, I learned she had walked about a mile and a half, down then up, through a steep valley on a major thoroughfare. She was taking some groceries and cleaning supplies from Walmart to her 88-year-old mother’s apartment, still about a mile and a half away. It really wasn’t far out of my way.
With air-conditioning blasting, we talked about jobs and volunteering and kindness before I reached her mother’s apartment complex. I insisted that she pay me back by paying it forward. “The way you’ll accomplish that,’’ I said, “is to do something kind for someone else.’’ Then we split.
I was headed home several minutes later when the first raindrops hit the windshield. Within a minute, it resembled a Hollywood rainstorm from an old film noir flick as if somebody held a garden hose over my windshield.
I thought of Cindy safely inside. I don’t care if people think I’m creepy.
Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/
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