Teaching moments pop up often, but sometimes they vanish too quickly for us to learn the intended lesson.
So it was recently at the supermarket entrance, where a 10-year-old girl stood beside a sign hand-lettered in red crayon, asking for donations so she could pay for dance lessons.
With her mother sitting expressionless behind her, she held out a bucket that was filling with dollar bills.
My wife, Ann, seemed sympathetic, but she bowed to my view that it might be a scam, so we dodged eye contact and went in for our groceries.
As we roamed the aisles, I had second thoughts – was my heart too hard to take the word of a child begging for something she loved?
Somewhere between Honeycrisp Apples and Provolone Cheese, a memory flickered:
One evening decades ago, as I sat riveted to the TV during a spirited PC basketball game, the telephone rang at a critical juncture. Annoyed, I strode to answer it, thinking, “This better be good.”
The caller was Lori, a volunteer for the Samaritans, and wouldn’t I like to donate to this organization that works to prevent suicide?
At that same instant I also heard PC hitting a critical layup, heightening my displeasure at the interruption.
I growled a cross “No” at Lori, who cheerfully replied that this was no problem and have a good night.
The game was a stunner, with the Friars defeating a strong Alabama team, but as the minutes ticked down something nagged at me: I was so peevish with that woman, and she was so pleasant with me.
I wondered who this Lori was, so in the morning I called the Samaritans, asking them to track her down.
They did, and she called again. This time I learned that the woman I had brushed off was a 29-year-old dental hygienist from West Warwick. On the day of her previous call she had worked until 5:30 p.m., and then – without dinner – went straight to the telephone headquarters for a three-hour shift.
Why?
“I just figured it was for a good cause and it would be helpful to others…there are people who need help and don’t get it – it’s really tragic.”
My talk with Lori also revealed that she and her husband hoped to start a family soon, and that she played pop and classical piano.
So while the night before she was a faceless annoyance, now she was a lesson learned about recklessly judging others.
Well, not quite learned, considering my suspicions at the supermarket.
Ann was behind the wheel as we left the store, and I sensed that she had a plan.
Sure enough, she drove to the market door, pushed a five-dollar bill into my hand, and ordered, “Give this to her.”
The kid looked stunned at the fiver and whispered a thank-you.
So many questions: Was it a scam? Was she scared to approach strangers? Did her mother regret the need for this? Should children panhandle at supermarket doors?
On the way home we talked it over and marveled that despite the unknowns, we felt better for our small gift – for the pleasure, in a time fraught with division, duplicity, and misinformation, of taking something on faith alone.
So you go, little girl. With our good wishes, dance your heart out.
Gerry Goldstein (gerryg76@verizon.net), a frequent contributor, is a retired Providence Journal editor and columnist.
