Rising to the Occasion of The Choice to Give

Today, on the way home, I pulled into my local Publix parking lot like usual.  It was 40 degrees and damp and cold out.  I had just driven in from Jacksonville.  There at the end of the island was a woman holding a child with a snow suit on.  A man stood beside her with a sign that said, "Help my family and 3 children".  The sign was made with cardboard mounted on styrofoam.  They stood, with him holding the sign and her swaying with the child who looked heavy.  He should have held the child and her the sign.  First doubt.

I proceeded to the parking area where I usually choose to park.  As I exited the car, I turned to look at the family on the island.  I was contemplating buying them a Publix family dinner.  But, after I grabbed my bags, I stood upright just in time to see the adults running and then stopping to click open the van and jump in.  The man ran back to pick up a Publix sack, then back in the van and they squealed off.  I couldn't tell if it was because he Publix staff had just walked out.

I saw a very similar group at the Fresh Market.  A woman holding a child with a sign and the tenish year old sitting in the grass just staring at the parking lot.  Her sign said simply, "Help Please".

I did give the Fresh Market lady $5.00.  But, when I saw the trio at Publix flee the parking lot, another scenario popped into my head.  It was the warning of my friends and many websites: Don't fall prey to the Gypsies!

Lain Mckell photo on modern day gypsies Huffington Post

When we were in Paris, the Gypsies were the pick pockets, the fleecers, the ones that would take what is yours without sound or feeling.  They also have good tricks.  In an earlier blog I described the ring on the ground as the "catch" to get you distracted, interested and then ask you for money - all for the very valuable but too small gold ring.  It was a very good trick.

There was no trick at Publix.  There was no trick at Fresh Market.  And I don't know who these people are or where they went after they disappeared.  They are clearly not the Tallahassee homeless people that I have seen in the past.  Most of the time the men by the interstate have one sign on cardboard and it may say "help a vet" or "why lie, I want a beer."  Before I say anything  that is construed as stereo typing, I know that homeless people come in all varieties single, families and just unlucky.  I also have met two families that thought it was okay to sit in front of the Publix and ask for organic handouts.

I am not judging the decision or desperation or whatever puts people in this situation.  But I am looking at it differently.  The Gypsies and their tricks gave me a new perspective.  People who ask for things or beg are not all crazy.  They are not all destitute.  Though begging is not a life I would want, surely it could be a choice just as much as the life of tricks and petty theft.  For some people it may actually be a choice.  For me, I can tell you it would be a very desperate situation where I would prefer to stand outside holding a child in the freezing cold, when there is a Publix that could provide shelter 100 feet away.

I did not buy the chicken dinner for the three people.  I wanted to though.  I wanted to help, which is precisely what they wanted me to feel.  I am now more skeptical.  More leary.  I am not proud of this, but I am not proud of the people who were taking advantage of those feelings with a child on curb in a parking lot.

I don't feel indifferent, but I do feel like the trick may have made it to America.

Rising to the Occasion of the Publix Interlude

There were many years when stopping by Publix on the way home was my social life.  Picking up three children from day care, then driving to the store was a moment of transition.  It let me move between work and home.  It let me make a plan for dinner.  It let me see people in a casual environment, while towing three behind me.  I would see other neighbors, mothers with kids in tow, work comrades, and of course the folks that worked there. Nothing like hanging out in the vegetable section, gabbing about someone's new baby over the carrots.

Flash forward and the kids are gone.  Guess what?  Publix continues to be a source of meeting and greeting my neighbors, my horse club friends, my co workers and the Publix employees.  Nothing like talking about your daughter's graduation over the organic yet packed in plastic, spinach boxes.

So, sauntering through the dairy section, a woman spots me and comes over for a hug.  She is a FB friend and a former employee.  She is happy to see me; she is one of those enthusiastic happy to see you everywhere, people.  Her smile is bigger than Texas and her hug equally so.  We are catching up on family, while I secretly eyeball the discount shelf. She asks about my only daughter.  I tell her she is backpacking through Europe for two and half months, she graduated form UF, she has not decided on her life and I am scared.  She is going to be alone for many weeks.  somewhere by now is her blog, which I can tell you doesn't make me feel better.  I tell her that her father is joining her in Croatia and that I will join her in Paris.  We are chatting and  a voice comes from behind the discount rack, "Oh my gosh, she will be fine, don't worry a second!"

And we look around and this woman comes out to tell us her story.  Her daughter fell in love here in Tallahassee.  She dated and then the young man decided to go back to his first girl friend.  The daughter is distraught and calls Mom and says, "I am selling everything and I leaving for Europe for as long as I can."

Her cart full of cheese and chips, she stops to tell us her daughter's story.  She left after the break up, touring Europe for a few months.  She lived mostly in hostels and then several nights on the streets.  Not good decisions, the mother says.  My daughter went right after the 9/11 attack.  " I was terrified and begged her to wait. She emailed me every two days.  And at some point, I needed to believe she would be okay.  And I did." Then she told us that something changed.  The young man realized the mistake.  He flew to Paris to propose.  Or maybe he flew to Rome.  I sort of forgot where he went, because this is a movie moment.  And now, they have two children and are celebrating their 10 year anniversary.  Romance, success, love and a grandmother.  Gotta love Publix.

It reminded me of my sister's visit so many years ago.  My then boyfriend had dumped me.  I took my dog to the vet, and the vet said,  "why don't you go stay at my farm in Indiana and meet my nephew?"  I was planning on going, but then, I got a job.  My sister chose to go, thinking she would be a writer, living on a farm.  Well, that story ends with three beautiful children.  And my family had many fun years in Indiana.  I bet she had many years in the local store, picking up the children and visiting with the neighbors.  Farm communities arer different, but all mom's yacking is the same.

The last three Publix stories I have to tell you are about cancer and worse.

I saw a person that I used to work with standing in the check out line a few years ago.  I said, "Hi, oh my gosh, you cute your hair!"  When I saw her, I reached up and touched it and said how cute the cut looks.  The hair clumped in my hand and fell on the floor in the check out line.  Her chemo was kicking in and her hair was falling out.  Breast Cancer.  She died ten weeks later.  I hated that moment.  I loved her courage standing in a check out line trying to do normal things while she knew she was dying. This story is ten years old.  Flash forward.

A fellow horse mom lost a child.  The disease was sudden and so sad.  Back then, I did not have the back bone or skills to say hello to a mom across the vegetable isle.  How does the social chat work in a grieving situation?  How do you look at her across the carrots and express your empathy?  I failed.

Next, I saw a woman in the vegetable isle, who I knew had breast cancer treatment.  She is also a horse person.  A brave, creative, fun, energetic, person.  I told her about my daughter, and she said, "oh my, Peggy, be so happy for her that you can afford it, that she can do it, she is having the adventure of her life!"  And I worried about terrorists and bombs.  She is finishing chemo and terrorists can't scare a cancer fighter.  Especially one that fights like a girl.

Who is safe, who is not, how can we be better, stronger, protect them more.  I am asking all of you to look into their eyes.  If they are busy and on the way home, then good.  But if they are slow, if they are teary, don't turn away.  Stop.  What most people want it comfort and safety.  Hug them and tell them that they are confirmed.  You don't have to agree.  You just have to validate who they are and how they feel.

So here is to the stores, the visits, the Mom's on the way home. Next time you see her, every her and any her, ask her how she is doing.  I bet she needs to tell you.  And you need to hear her.  And best of all, you might hear some good advice about your life.  None of knows when our daughters will leave for Paris or when cancer will strike.  Ladies, take heed.