I saw him the second he stepped into the road, his unkempt slacks sweeping the ground as he crossed slowly. It was easy to tell he didn’t fit in with the rest of the impatient individuals that huddled at the street corners of Manhattan, waiting to cross the road; even if it weren’t for his disheveled appearance—his shirt sleeve torn off, and hair hanging in ratted dreadlocks around is face—it was obvious by his leisurely jaunt that he was not rushed. He advanced comfortably until he stopped, right by me. Right in front of my daughter’s stroller. I don’t like to assume the worst, but having grown up in Manhattan, and having run into plenty of people who shared his look, I got nervous. I glanced at the light, hoping maybe it would change, and whatever would happen could be avoided. But color remained the same so I looked back, my hands nervously wringing the soft handle. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the others standing with me looking anywhere but at the neglected man. One checked her phone, another played with his toe within his shining shoe.
The man remained stoic, and my nerves rose. I lifted my purse from my shoulder and jumbled through the mess until I found a neatly folded dollar. I extended it to the man, but there he rested, frozen, not even glancing at the pressed, green note. My daughter stirred in her stroller; she could feel the man’s gaze. It was unusual for someone like that to refuse money, so I moved forward, thrusting the bill closer to him, until finally, he reached very deliberately and lifted it from my hand.
P.S. This doesn't relate exactly to the story, but It relates to general compassion, so I figured maybe someone could find it interesting. I was bell-ringing for Y.E.S. with two friends at Byerly's yesterday, and about 45 minutes into it, we decided to go inside and buy something from Caribou to warm us up, so two of us went inside while the other stayed to ring the bell (there needs to be one person there at all times). So we were waiting at the counter, looking at the menu trying to decide what to drink, when a woman came up next to us. I told her she could go ahead because we were still deciding, but she said she was just waiting for her drink to be made. Then she asked us if we were the ones outside ringing the bell, and we told her yes, we just wanted a quick drink. She the said "Well, them I'm buying your drinks." We said it was okay, she didn't have to do that, but she insisted. She bought all three of us drinks, two hot chocolates and a latte. That is compassion.
P.S. This doesn't relate exactly to the story, but It relates to general compassion, so I figured maybe someone could find it interesting. I was bell-ringing for Y.E.S. with two friends at Byerly's yesterday, and about 45 minutes into it, we decided to go inside and buy something from Caribou to warm us up, so two of us went inside while the other stayed to ring the bell (there needs to be one person there at all times). So we were waiting at the counter, looking at the menu trying to decide what to drink, when a woman came up next to us. I told her she could go ahead because we were still deciding, but she said she was just waiting for her drink to be made. Then she asked us if we were the ones outside ringing the bell, and we told her yes, we just wanted a quick drink. She the said "Well, them I'm buying your drinks." We said it was okay, she didn't have to do that, but she insisted. She bought all three of us drinks, two hot chocolates and a latte. That is compassion.
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