October 21, 2013
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Dude (Our Otis)
Or "Generous Face - Stingy Heart"
Years ago, when my family was much smaller, I was driving them home from the grocery store one bitterly cold, rainy night when I saw a forty something black lady standing on the side of the road. I didn't know her, but I'd seen her around, so I asked my wife if she'd have an issue stopping to give her a ride. The response I got was less than happy agreement, "Yeah, I would hate to be stuck out in this nasty weather. " We turned around and offered her a ride. She eagerly agreed, then stepped over to the bushes as if to pick up her bags, and out stepped another person I recognized: her boyfriend, a local drunk. "You're ok with him, too?" Now it was my turn to be less than thrilled, "I guess so. You know that's not the most honest way to get a ride. Next time I may be just as likely to drive by knowing you'll pull a trick like that." Of course, I also knew that she knew she'd have never gotten a ride at all if both of them were walking together.
I knew where he lived. It was in the opposite direction a couple miles, but by the time we dropped them off, my car retained his distinct odor of unwashed body and malt liquor. I vaguely remember the conversation that followed the click of the door shutting after they thanked us and got out, but I clearly remember it was not pleasant.
In the ensuing years, there have been multiple occasions when my wife and I have come across either of the two asking for some favor or the other, and though more times than not, we've politely declined, we've helped out on a number of occasions. It's just what you do in a small town. Some people are less fortunate, and even if it's because of their own choices or the demons they haven't tamed, you take your turn. Yes, he's one of those people who is monetarily a net loss to society, but he is, after all, a human being.
When he feels the initiative, he does odd jobs at a mechanic shop a couple doors down from the place we now live, and he has to pass our new place to get into town or go home. I don't remember how it started, but the kids, for lack of any other name, call him Dude. So we'll be out in the yard, and he'll come by on his scooter, and the kids'll holler out, "Hey, Dude!" , and he'll wave and be on his way. Of course, a good portion of the time, I assume there's no money, even for gas for the scooter, so he'll be afoot.
This morning, I went down to the 7eleven a couple hundred yards down from our house, eager to fill my Double Gulp and avoid the impending caffeine withdrawal headache. There he stood. As I walked in, he asked how I was doing. I stopped for a few seconds, and we discussed how chilly it has been the last couple mornings. I was pretty sure, I was getting the leadup to a, "Hey man, can you spare a buck?" Sure enough, as I came out with my soda, he let loose with the exact question, but being the good salesman he is, and having seen the purpose of my visit, he added, "...so I can get a soda to drink." The conversation in my head, starting with, "Who's he think he's fooling? I'm not wasting my hard earned money funding Dude's next 40 0z." involved my opinions on able people who leech off the labors of those who actually drag themselves out of bed at ungodly hours of the morning to give of their blood, sweat and tears to EARN their soda money, but I hadn't helped him in a while, and I mean, really, as tight as money is, I'm not one to deny a thirsty man a drink. I showed him my empty wallet, and reluctantly said, "Come on..." I had noticed he has been hobbling with a cane the last couple months. "What happened to your foot?" "Got hit by a car." "Walking home drunk again in the dark?", but the last sentence got caught in the filter before it exited my brain.
He picked the cheapest thing in the cooler. I paid. He thanked me effusively. I told him it was no problem, though the words falling from my lips did not mirror the sentiments brooding inside. I, earnestly now, wished him a good day and was off, hurrying home so my daughter could have the car for work.
Comments (2)
Understand that I'm coming at this theoretically and not judgmentally at all. I don't sleight people for their decisions regarding helping or not helping beggar types. I've heard various arguments, and I'm never fully satisfied with any conclusions I tentatively come to.
That said, I tend to think that truly helping someone in his situation involves more of an investment than just money. He needs to be challenged, to be questioned, to be known. We think something is wrong with him that he subsists the way he does. However, I think we too often assume things about people in such situations. Does he secretly aspire to anything higher? Is he satisfied as is? Etc.
If he has no desire to change, I have a hard time seeing any sort of generosity doing any genuine good. It may salve a twinge of guilt, but how is he any better off for it in the mid- or long term?
That said, I've never invested myself much in panhandlers. I've given a few bucks, a few rides, a few meals. To be honest though, I have a hard time caring, esp enough to spend much more with any of them than I do.
Some of that is selfishness, sure. But to be fair, some of it is because there is a big difference between true need and self-induced poverty. I have no desire to enable destructive and counterproductive behavior, whether it's an individual on the street or a government in Washington.
tHOSE PEOPLE HAVE A WAY OF LIFE THAT IS NOT OBVIOUSLY THE OURS BUT AS YOU SAY THEY ARE HUMAN BEINGS AND GOD'S CHILDS TOO ;
They gave to us conscience problems .
In friendship
Michel