A Helping Hand
The other day, on the way to a meeting, the Boy Scout and I approached a very busy intersection. This particular intersection, in addition to its 4 normal lanes, has 2 left turn lanes as it feeds the 101 freeway a few blocks down. Looking over to my left, I noticed a homeless gal trying to pick up a friend who had fallen out of his wheelchair into the street near the corner. She was having no luck. The gent was an amputee and was not able to help her much.We came to a stop at the red light waiting to make our left turn and, without a word, the Boy Scout jumps out of the car and hurries over to the corner, ignoring the traffic. In this big intersection, where dozens of cars are stopped, and loads are speeding by, he was the only one that got out to help, not the 30ish construction guy on my left, not the two high school boys behind him. Finally, a gal that was pumping gasoline nearby came over. Between the two of them, they got the gent back in his chair and up on the curb. My man says to the gent that he could not believe that he was helping a Raiders fan. They both grinned and back to the car he came.
I love that about him. He helps out.
The world needs more good deeds like that!
ReplyDeleteI LOVE the boyscout. First night out with my hubby he did something very similar. I knew he was my guy right then and there. Give him big hugs from me!
ReplyDeleteHe certainly earns that "Boy Scout" nickname!!
ReplyDeleteA real "Boy Scout" always lends a helping hand. Nice!
ReplyDeleteYes he does! Such a wonderful thing to do!
ReplyDeleteyour man is selfless; an admirable quality.
ReplyDeleteThat is really lovely! Wish there were more people like that in the world :)
ReplyDeleteNow that's definitely worth the Boy Scout Badge of Compassion. Bravo to him.
ReplyDeleteThat's so good to read.
ReplyDeleteYour Boy Scout's actions reminded me of this poem. Please thank him from me for his act of kindness.
ReplyDeleteDanusha Laméris: Small Kindnesses
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”
I love that Robin. Thank you.
Delete