Last night a friend posted this blog on Facebook about a little boy who was losing his battle with cancer. I read the post aloud to Dia while she took a bath and I couldn't get through it without crying. Dia saw the photos of the little boy and, in her innocence, said they shouldn't give up on the medicine just because he looks puffy now. She said we had to go buy him a Transformers card (because, she explained, all 5 year olds like Transformers) and that she would write a note to him that he should not give up. She wanted to tell him he could make it. She wanted to do something to help.
So do I.
I know this story touches people so because it's so easy to walk in those shoes. We, as parents, live in terror that something could take our children from us. Watching helplessly as sinister cells attack our most precious child has to be excruciating. I can't imagine not wanting to invoke God, magic, radical medical treatments and holistic psychosomatic cures all at once. I can't imagine not living in a constant frantic state trying to save your baby's life.
As an outsider or even as a friend to someone who is battling her own war with cancer, I share in that helpless feeling. What can I possibly do to help? Send the little boy a birthday card? You betcha - that's done. Send my friend something to cheer her ? A little money ? A silly card ? Hopefully all those gestures touch their hearts and give them a smile for the moment, but what I want to do is fix it. I want to cure cancer. Specifically I want my friend healthy and I want all the children in the world cured. Now.
Because I want so much to make it right, to make it perfect, to fix it, I over-think. Then, instead of actually getting that stupid little something and mailing it off, I think how lame the little something is in the face of what my friends are dealing with. I second guess and end up putting the little something back and doing nothing instead.
Today as I was sitting at a stoplight on my way into work I saw a small child pushing a grocery cart overloaded with something in a giant black trash bag. It was so ridiculously overfull that it reminded me of the Grinch with his sleigh full of the Who's Christmas. His little sister toddled along beside him. I could guess her at around 3 by her stride and height. The boy was young too, maybe 6 or 7, but seemed confident and stronger than most kids that age. A grown man was with them too, though that seemed more relative than literal. He was a good 20 feet ahead of the kids. He, too, carried a large black trash bag. I guessed they had recyclables they were going to trade in for a little cash.
This scene choked me up too. I wasn't as devastated as I was with the story of little Cole, but I couldn't help feeling for this family. These tiny children aren't playing with their toys Santa brought. They aren't deliberating over what they'll wear today, or which friend they'll have a play date with this weekend. I guarantee if you've got the whole family involved in cherry picking aluminum cans, you aren't living in a house on the hill.
My instinct was to turn the car around. Or at the very least park and walk down to them. I thought I should offer them some cash (what little I had on me) or something. I wanted to DO something. These were two little children living off the streets. I felt helpless in how much I wanted to help.
Instead I just thanked God I had a job to come into, a paycheck, a house, three beautiful children who are healthy and a family that supports and loves me.
It's great to be appreciative and all, but really ... I should have done something.
Last night in front of the post office a boy approached us selling candy bars. It was to raise funds for an organization that kept kids off drugs and out of gangs. The candy bars were $3 a piece and no larger than a typical Hershey's bar. Dia and I said no thank you once we heard the price. He apologized "Yeah, I know." he said, "They raise the price way up." With that we walked away. But as I was getting Dia in the car I glanced back and watched him settle down on the curb. I thought "Just go give him a dollar." My next set of thoughts were that he might not be able to just take a dollar, that maybe he'd just keep it, that maybe he had to settle his till and that would throw his balance off ... all kinds of stupid ridiculous scenarios. I didn't give him a dollar. I just drove away.
I should have given him the freaking dollar. If he couldn't take it, then fine, he'd refuse it. The worst that could have happened there is that I'd have felt sad and would have ended up with an overpriced candy bar. Jeez... THAT is what stopped me from doing what the little angel on my shoulder said was the right thing? Am I really that much of a coward?
And I should have turned around today and offered the family some cash. Instead I worried that they might not speak English, or they might not understand, or they might be offended because they are doing legitimate work and getting paid for it after all. OK, so what? No, I don't want to hurt anyone's pride, but there are children involved here. The adults would have survived an insult if that's how they took it. And to be honest, maybe it was my pride I was more concerned with. Maybe I was worried I would get snubbed and I'd have to get back in my little car and go to work somewhat embarrassed. If that's the worst case scenario on that one, again, I chose wrong.
I can't cure cancer, damnit. I can't relieve poverty. I can't save all the kids out there that go astray. I don't have the education or the resources. But that shouldn't stop me from doing what I can. What I can do is donate to the research as I have it to give. What I can do is buy a Transformers card and send it to a child that I pray so hard sees his 5th birthday - and his 6th and 7th. What I can do is send a care package to a friend because it might make her happy. Do I want to do more? Yes. Absolutely. But something is so much better than nothing.
What is it that my boss says? "Don't let perfect be the enemy of good." Indeed.
kec
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