Saturday, December 6, 2008

Tis the Satirical Season?

My 12- year- old launched a full-blown-food-protest this morning (after too long between grocery trips), threatening a revolt if we ate veggie burgers one more night. So I got into my baby blue Prius and drove to the grocery store, hurried and harried to return back to a final draft of a paper on deadline.

As I walked toward the entrance of Safeway, I passed a woman standing at her car with her hand on the hood. She was leaning over as if she was in pain. I glanced at first, and continued past her, taking a minute for circumspect to strike me. Then the pause. 

I turned around and thoughfully approached her. "Are you okay?" I asked? She replied, "I'm just having one of those days. I can't seem to get to my truck."  She was parked in the disabled spot.  

"May I help you?" I asked.  "Sure," she said smiling at me with apparent gratitude, and maybe some surprise.

She moved with painful deliberation as I gently took her arm and helped her into the truck.  A few seconds later, a young employee of Safeway approached to see if he could help.  He put her groceries into the back of the truck as I continued to help her into the vehicle.

She drove away grateful for the assistance.

I headed back toward the door of Safeway, about 40 feet from where this woman was struggling and walked past the holiday season staple: Salvation Army bell ringers. There were four of them posted at this single spot, one furiously text messaging, another talking on her cell phone; about five others posted another 20 feet away. 

Again I hurriedly walked past them, and then I suddenly stopped. I walked back outside and looked at them. They were watching the woman as she drove away. They had seen her struggle to get to her vehicle as she had to walk past them to get to her truck. And I was both stunned and entertained at the irony: They were there collecting money so that they could help others in need.  

Yet, right there, within their very view, was a person in need, someone they could have helped in this moment- not in some intangible way, but in a very authentic-in-the-moment-way. I felt like I was in a bad piece of satire: Saturday Night Live's caustic condemnation of human behavior comes to small town Arizona. 

Where have we gone wrong that we don't pay attention to one another any longer?  Why do some humans ignore their moral duty to help?  What compels some to take the initiative to help even while others do not, or even while others will inflict direct harm? *(Milgram's experiments, while unethical, taught us a great deal about human behavior and helping/harming...)

It's easy to drop a dollar in the hungry metal bucket. It's easy to send a check in the mail to some obscure group that helps people who you will never know or meet or see. And they are, indeed, worthy and necessary causes to which others should give. But, there are so many more important things than fiscal responsibility to one another. There is a responsibility of compassion; kindness; mindfulness of suffering; advocacy for social justice; and our pause in recognition for their worthiness of our time. Those are the things that money cannot buy. Those are the things you will not find in any red bucket.  And apparently, those are the things that are the most difficult to offer to another, if for no other reason than we mindlessly are unable to see the need as it arises. Those are also the most imposing tests of our own humanity.


6 comments:

The Helbert Fueglein Family said...

Thank you for that Joanne--and thank you for helping that woman in the parking lot. I want to share this link on Theo's Stocking Blog--what you did for that woman is a perfect example of an act of kindness that any one of us can do for another--and should do. Not because it is Christmas, not for any other reason than to help another person. I am shaking my head at those "bucket sentries" and wondering along with you at how backwards things are sometimes.
((((((Hugs))))))

1,000 Faces of MotherHenna said...

Of course you helped her :) You've been helping many of us who got stopped in our tracks, midway across the parking lot of life, thinking we are unable to get to the truck, in need of just a little care and compassion.

I've been thinking a lot lately about care vs cure ; tool vs prescription. I wonder if sometimes people don't stop to help, don't bother to communicate for real because they think anything they do to "help" has to be the cure, the prescription, the fix. They don't know they are allowed to just care, to work the tool of communication without some blockbuster ending or fix-all? Just like we don't know how to sit without saying anything. How people will resort to platitudes just to talk because silence is so uncomfortable.

I don't know how we lost those skills. Or forgot about them.

Anyway...
xoxo
me

Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said...

Karla,
I am honored to be included in Theo's holiday KP.

Thank you!

Kara-- what can I say? I think you've said something so profound here. Caring is enough. Fixing is too much. It's the Goldilocks theory of caring.

dethmama said...

Excellent post, Joanne. It's disheartening, but true... So few of us will actually "get their hands dirty" by reaching out to help. So much easier to throw coins in a bucket.

Noël said...

This post and even these comments have made sense of many similar thoughts spinning through my mind lately...I have this desire to create some monument of love for those I miss, out of a grand act this season and I haven't found what I need. These words have made my answer clear, thank you.
Also, when will we, as a society, decide that being humane, acting with care and considering the needs of each other is what will make us all better?

Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said...

Dethmama- thanks for your visits here. Dirty hands make it all the more rewarding!

Noel- thank you. Your post means a great deal to me. More than I can express.

Becoming...

""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
The soul still sings in the darkness telling of the beauty she found there; and daring us not to think that because she passed through such tortures of anguish, doubt, dread, and horror, as has been said, she ran any the more danger of being lost in the night. Nay, in the darkness did she, rather, find herself.

--St. John, Dark Night of the Soul


Follow me on Facebook