One of the many things our mom taught us by example was generosity. She wasn't just generous with her family, but she shared what she had with strangers, too.
When I was in fourth grade, which would be about 1957, long after the Depression, we moved to Morris Ave. There were train tracks about three blocks away but no station or stop for many miles. Hobos were sort of mythical creatures to me, and about all I knew was that they grew in numbers during the Depression and rode the rails.
Then one summer day in 1959 or '60, I was sitting on the front steps with a girlfriend (of all things, we were admiring the polish we had just put on our toenails!) when a man approached our house and tipped his hat to us; then without a word, he walked to our back door, which was on the side of our house. It's a sign of the times that we were curious rather than afraid, but the gentleman looked pleasant, if a little ragged. I recall turning to see him speak to my mom, hat in hand, and then wait patiently at the door.
It wasn't long before Mom handed a paper bag out the door (sandwiches, perhaps), but he was still there. Then I saw my mother give him a large glass jar of homemade soup that she had heated up for him --and napkins and a spoon, of course! The funny thing is that it didn't seem all that unusual to me that a strange man would pass all of the other houses for three blocks and come straight to ours. Obviously, the word was out that a good woman -- and a good cook -- lived there. Nor do I remember ever asking Mom about it. It was just what you did then. You fed a person who was hungry, even if you didn't have a lot to share. I suppose people who had lived through hard times understood implicitly that the man at the door who tipped his hat could have been them, their loved ones, their neighbors.
I don't think I ever heard my parents refuse to help someone in need. They didn't get their names in the newspapers or get recognized by local organizations. That's not why they did it. My mom just did it because it was right, because it was what you did. No Sunday school lessons ever taught me as much about the Golden Rule as my momma did.
Now we call these people homeless, "bag ladies," street people. We don't look into their eyes and see their pain. We bolt our doors against strangers. We don't interact with the likes of them. And worst of all, we say we have made "progress." Progress? I think something's been lost in translation.
4 comments:
Oh, Nanny, what a wonderful memory! I remember it, too! I wonder if it was the same time or a different time, a different "hobo." I was in the kitchen with her at the time. I don't think we really talked about it, like you said. It's just what she did. I also don't remember it was "hush, hush," either. More like I might've helped her by handing her a napkin or something. And yes, I felt some awe and mystery about him, but no fear.
Do unto others, no kidding!
That was beautiful. I used to carry around this thing that some Native American medicine man had written and the line that sticks with me is one that he said about giving the homeless money on the street. He said something like, "It doesn't matter what this person does with the money you gave him. He may buy drugs or wine but by giving, you have already done good and that's what matters."
Your mama did good.
Welcome, Ms. Moon! :)
I have such conflict about this "giving money" thing. So many people here, as well as in Florida, on the street begging. What I felt like doing yesterday when I saw a woman and child on the street corner here was to give her $100 pesos ($10 dollars), which would be a decent day's wage for her, and tell her to take her child home and rest. I should've, huh?
There are some people who would say you're a sucker, but I probably would have done it. But ms. moon is right about not having any stake in what the receiver does with it. If I were reduced to begging, I would want someone to see me as a person, no matter what.
Post a Comment