I’m from a small Alabama town; I’ve lived here most of my life. Here, most everyone has some connection with one another, whether it be sharing a church, living with family, etc. Overall, it’s a very child-friendly place. Don’t get me wrong, I feel very lucky to have been raised somewhere so safe and loving. However, to a kid who’s never been anywhere else, I grew up very – sheltered.
When I was about ten or so, my family decided to spend Thanksgiving somewhere different. We chose to go to New Orleans, where some of my relatives had recently moved. With bags packed and accommodations made, we headed off. I was ecstatic, to say the least. I was ready to taste the gumbo, see the masks, and go on what I considered an “adventure.”
A few days passed and all we had done was visit family. I begged my mother to take me into the city. I was old enough, I told her. I made the usual promises – stick by her side, look both ways when crossing, so she agreed. It was around sunset when we arrived downtown in a huge family group; my cousins led the way as I followed in wonder. There were musical performances, beautiful dress shops, and the smell of the passing restaurants was exquisite. I had never been somewhere so amazing. The street lamps began to glow as the sky dimmed, and the city life bustled.
After a while, we decided to stop somewhere and get something to eat. We were leaned up against a wall on the side of the street when I noticed a confused elderly man, his wheelchair partly in the road. I wandered off to him and grabbed the handles of his chair, pushing him back up to the sidewalk.
“Do you need anything else, sir?” I asked him. My face was beaming as the trip became more interesting by the minute.
He mumbled something I couldn’t quite catch. His words sounded funny, and I got a whiff of something odd.
“What was that?” I asked.
He began pointing down the street and I looked to see what he was trying to tell me. Everything seemed normal; the music was still playing and the lanterns were still glowing. People kept passing by, laughing and talking. I started to get a feeling that something wasn’t right.
“I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” I told him. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist.
“Money.” He whispered, his voice trembling and hand shaking.
Oh, okay. I relaxed. All he wanted was money. My parents would be willing to help, I was sure of it. Maybe we could even drive him and he could stay the night at my cousin’s. It was all going to work out, I was sure of it.
“Dad!” I yelled towards my father. The man still wasn’t letting go of my arm, but it was fine. He probably just wanted to hold it as a comfort. I could let him do that, right?
My dad came, and with widened eyes, faced the man. “Let go of her,” he demanded angrily.
“Dad, he needs our help,” I said. “We should take him to eat with us, and he can stay with us too! Then we can take him and help him find a house, and -”
My father pulled me aside. “Honey, he’s drunk, and look, he needs to see a doctor.” It was then I noticed a hospital bracelet on the man’s arm.
“But Dad, you said we should help everyone, right? I just don’t get it.” I started crying. I just didn’t understand.
“Look. We can help him, but being with us isn’t what he needs right now. He needs a doctor and a homeless shelter. I know you want to help, and I’m proud of you for that, but he needs more than what we can give him.”
That night, we called the hospital and made sure the man was taken care of. Even though my little heart was broken, it made me happy to know that we did help him. I was still a bit confused, but things worked out. Being newly exposed to things you are unsuspecting, or have a misleading idea about, can be hard. But perhaps, the only way to find peace and innocence in hard times is to look at it like a child would.
Because of this eye-opening experience, and others like it, I have made it my mission to look after others in the way I can. Even though at the time I was horrified by the idea of not helping this man directly, I’ve realized that we each have our place within the community. That doesn’t mean I’m regretting learning CPR or researching countless non-profits. I’m still going to do my part. But my part doesn’t always mean I get to see the results for myself. Part of wanting to help others starts once you realize things aren’t always best in your hands, but in the person of organization you trust.
