Rushing home after a day at work, two tired and cranky kids in the car, I pulled up to a red light. I glanced over and saw what many of us see at intersection in towns and cities. An old man sat on a bucket with a sign in his hands. His cap was pulled low on his head, shielding him from the burning sun of the afternoon. His wrinkled and cracked skin a testament to years of hardship that I probably couldn't begin to imagine. Black words scrawled across the bent cardboard sign: "Need food, need money".
I noticed him and then I looked away. Avoiding eye contact so I wouldn't be forced to acknowledge him, embarrassed by his presence in my world. Hoping I wouldn't have to explain to my children why he needed money, knowing that I should be better prepared to teach them empathy but wanting to protect them from the existence of painful lives and profound hopelessness. I should have been leading by example and opened my window further to offer him some spare change, some acknowledgement, some human contact that wasn't derision or fear or repulsion. But they didn't ask, and I didn't let him know I'd seen him. I remained fallibly human and looked straight ahead.
The red light not yet changed, I noticed in my side mirror a couple of young girls on the side walk. Short shorts and tank tops, not children any longer, but still reaching furtively towards that thread of adulthood. As they neared the man on the bucket, hands in his lap silently begging for change, I noticed their whispers and their giggles and I wondered if they too were going to avoid him. I was curious if they would avert their eyes like I had, pretend in his non-existence and walk right on by.
As their steps grew closer, they didn't alter their course and one of these non-child-non-adults leaned towards him. I was astonished, thinking she was going to put money in his bowl, show a gracious pity that I'd forgotten does exist in adolescence, and put my embarrassed self to shame. Then something occurred that has sat in my head for weeks, reminding me of our place, our community, our family and how we all are connected. This young lady did not give him money or food, she leaned over and hugged him. A smile lit his face, showing his teeth yellowed with age and, amazingly, even more wrinkles appeared at the corners of his mouth. Then she said two simple yet powerful words that brought tears to my eyes and a clutching shameful pain to my heart.
She said, "Hi Grandpa"
