Maybe you know me already and you're nodding in agreement, but it's true. When I see a homeless person at my usual freeway exit, I look away. I check my iPhone for texts and drive off in my new car, while Phil Collins sings "Another Day In Paradise" in my head, shaming my yuppy ways. My six year old is always really upset when we see homeless people. She can't comprehend how anyone could not have a family or a home, and it sincerely bothers her. This is not, obviously, from my teachings but just an innate kindness that I envy. I always have to hand over my change to the homeless with Taylor in the car, so she won't cry the way she does at the ASPCA commercial with Sarah McLachlan singing in the background. Today I'm driving solo.
But here's why I really suck. A few streets down at a stop light, there's another homeless person. Only this one has a dog. A freakin' dog! I can't look away. I can't stop staring. Suddenly, my heart grows three sizes, like the Grinch when Cindy Loo Hoo wins him over. This poor dog lost the puppy jackpot when his owner decided to take him in, because wherever he took him in to is no more. Tears are running down my face as I'm thinking about the dog's acute sense of smell, and how the scent of beef bowls from the nearby Yoshinoya is probably making his stomach rumble. It's not even until I drive through the intersection that I realize I didn't feel the same compassion for the dirty, hungry human standing next to him. There's something terribly wrong with that, isn't there? I have the urge to rescue a dog, but not another human being?
Without fail, the same sort of scenario presents itself at the nearby Target a few days later. I pull into the parking lot, and my jaw hits the floor. There's a well dressed woman my age or younger with her husband, holding up a sign that claims he lost his job and they need money. But that's not what I'm fixated on. My eyes were glued to the two little girls sitting on the curb next to her, in the 100 degree heat. They had to be the same age as my kids. Again, I start to bawl, but a little more uncontrollably than I did with the homeless dog, which is kind of a relief. I'm not a complete douche bag. I have some of my priorities straight.
I pull into a parking spot close to them and dial the sheriff station. I don't know what else to do. I realize they're not really hurting the kids, but that's sort of up for discussion. The operator I speak with is incredibly nice. I tell her, "I don't think it's safe for the kids to be in the parking lot. Can you send someone?" What I really want to say is, "What kind of horrible mother makes their kids sit in the 100 degree heat, while she panhandles for money?!! Take them away! Put them in a home with a good family who wouldn't dream of it!"
I know I'm judging. I know I'm an over privileged, middle -class, spoiled, white girl. Call me what you will, but I just couldn't ask that of my own kids.
After I escaped the black hole that is Target, I pulled up next to the family and rolled down my window. "It's for the girls," I said, handing him two chocolate chip cookies and two juice boxes. He looked disappointed. The girls looked excited. And because I seriously distrust mankind, I drove away just slow enough to make sure he actually gave the cookies to them.
I also drove away feeling like a bitch. Feeling like life just isn't fair. And wondering why I love dogs and kids, but really don't like people.
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If you came here to see unrelated pictures of my cute family and not to hear me whine, scroll down. You're welcome.
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| A dog who should probably be homeless, since he still pees inside. Ah, Zero. |
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| He loves life, and his ball. |
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| Popped the birthday boy's balloon. |
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| First softball game with assistant Coach Dad. |
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| "SOFTBALL READY!" |
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| Keeping a 4 yr. old busy during a 2 hour softball game is brutal. |
