Maybe We Should Be More Like the Kids

As we pulled up to the red light and I saw the man standing on the median just outside my driver’s side window, I felt strongly that something wasn’t right. I had a visceral aversion to him for no reason that I could easily identify, aside from the fact that he looked particularly rough. Intuition is a thing, isn’t it?

Although my child and I carry extra snacks in the car that we can hand out, as needed, to the unhoused people we encounter in everyday life, something about this guy made me think, “Roll up the windows and lock the door.”

So, I that’s exactly what I did. And I silently willed that light to turn green as quickly as possible.

From the backseat, and oblivious to what I was thinking, my daughter inquired, “Mama, do we still have snacks we could give that man?”

“Yes,” I replied hesitantly. “Something doesn’t feel right here, though. My intuition is telling me he’s not a safe person.”

As I said that, I took another careful glance at him and noticed that he had some large “red flags” tattooed on his body (not actual red flags, of course – but things that made me say “uh oh”). I’ll leave it at that, but trust me. To be clear, I have no problem with tattoos in general. Symbols that represent hatred and violence are something entirely different in my mind, however.

My child continued, though. “Mama, maybe he’s not a safe person because no one has ever shown him what safety feels like. Maybe we need to be the ones to show him some kindness. Maybe if more people would do that, he’d be in a better place and he’d struggle less.”

Gulp. Leave it to my child to keep me humble.

I felt torn, simultaneously wanting to trust my intuition and move away from that man (“How long IS this red light, anyway?”), while also wanting to show up for him in this small way. And to model to my child that loving our neighbor doesn’t mean only the neighbor who makes us feel comfortable.

“A snack. It’s just a snack. Step up,” I told myself. I’ll pass it through a barely open window, with the door locked, and us inside a vehicle with plenty of gasoline. The actual threat was little to none.

Feeling ashamed of my judgment toward him, and grateful to my child for reminding me to show compassion to this man when my own compassion was lacking, I passed him the food.

He took it gratefully.

The light turned green and we moved on.

These are the moments when I have the greatest hope for humanity: when I see a child striving to do the right thing even when the adult is wishy washy or disinclined to help.

These are the moments when I’m tempted to turn off my anxiety about the “state of the world” (whatever that means), and see children who view acts of kindness as their “norm.” Generosity and altruism are their wiring when we don’t get in the way of letting those qualities emerge naturally by forced turn-taking or whatever other adult-centric lesson we’re trying to instill in them.

Children are the ones who’ll look past (no, more than that – be totally oblivious to) the days when we don’t have time to shower or our hair looks goofy in our own estimation–and they look into our eyes and tell us we’re beautiful.

Maybe rather than adults raising children to be more like us — “preparing them” for all the hardships and seriousness of adulthood–maybe we should remember our charge to be a bit more like them, instead.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep carrying the snacks, because someday soon, if I’m lucky, my child’s voice may become my inner voice, not just the other way around.

I can think of nothing better than this kind of hope for humanity.