It was a typical spring day in the valley, warm dry and raining pollen. Yes, it was more like a slight dusting of snow, but you get the drift. It was intense, visible and sinus wracking. The first born called me upon the end of her school day. It was the typical bargain. We should go out and get her an Ike's sandwich. I was in a mood to fulfill her wishes despite the raging allergies. Upon pulling into the humongous parking lot that was half empty a whiff of the allergens hit me like a rubber club on the back of my head. I pleaded to be left back in the parked car so I could shield myself from nature's onslaught. The first born hesitantly stepped out and peeked in again saying
"It's not fun without you"
Now, it isn't every day that a teen says fun and you in the same sentence to the parent. I am sure you are nodding your head in agreement if you had experienced it first hand. Unable to say no to that nicety, I stepped out throwing caution to air, quiet literally (if I had to use that buzz word 'literally' that every one and their brother's neighbors use these days)
As we approached the sandwich place, I saw a hefty old man nuzzled into a wrought iron chair, his chin tucked into his chest, looking every bit peaceful as the Buddha. Even in his sitting posture, I could get a sense of how tall he was, as his long legs lay entwined at their feet, his knees pointing outward, making the chair diminish in its dimension. But what really caught my attention wasn't his austere face, or the matted hair and shoes, or even the soiled clothes. He had bruises on his face, protruding bruises that looked fresh and quiet painful. Raised pebble like blood red spots between his eyes, on the forehead and cheekbones looked like distracting adornments on his sanguine face. He was oblivious to the world. Sleeping in a nonchalance that looked impossible to me, from the way his bruises appeared. Right next to him I spotted a noisy sibling duo, two toddler brothers raging in an argument about something. They didn't register into my mind as much as the old man did as a part of me was wondering about the source, symmetry and the rawness of those wounds on the man's face and how he could look so at peace, without as much as a wrinkle of pain on his face.
I held the door open to the younger one of the brothers and let him walk into the shop, where I spotted the mother of these two young men. After my own kid was let in to place her order, I settled in a chair opposite to the older kid, lost in reading a book.
When I heard the door screech, I looked up to see if my kid came out with her order. It was the woman. She walked out, settled in the chair with the boys and started eating her sandwich. By this time, I hadn't noticed, the old man was up.
"DO you want to share my sandwich?" the woman asked him while simultaneously pulling out one half of her meal. The old man came forward with eager hands and quickly got to munching it - with the same nonchalance intact. Now my gaze darted to the older of the kids. He looked at what was unfolding with great absorption. A part of me was half guessing that he would open his mouth and say something - Be curious about the wounds perhaps?, Express disgust about the appearance? We can trust the kids to do such things - unfiltered blurting out of what ever crosses their mind. Just then the mother pulled out a banana from her bag and handed it to the old man. The kid's open mouth closed firmly, still intent in observing the man chewing his food noisily.
In the meanwhile, my kid came out and I got up to leave. I waited for the mother to make an eye contact with me. I wanted to flash a smile of approval. Our eyes didn't meet and I left the place, not knowing I was smiling to myself.
"That kid learned a very important lesson today" I told my daughter and narrated the whole incident to her. "The man looked scary amma" She added. "But should we withdraw the empathy we have just because they look scary?" I asked her. "The system kind of makes you cynical" she added. "They preach about caution, stranger danger, not trusting others etcetera. isn't it daunting to heed to that and to your own heart at the same time?"
I fell silent. It was my turn to figure out. "May be we shouldn't let our caution cloud our humanity" I said to her. "May be we'll intuitively know when something is dangerous" I continued. But there's as much trust as there is suspicion. There's as much empathy as there is indifference.
"I was kind of surprised she left those kids alone beside that man" She added. I smiled again. There is a new layer to the observation that skipped my mind. That is a mother that didn't let the world get to her. "Bless" I thought, now knowing that this stepping out braving the allergies was beneficial to me. We both walked back smiling and sniffling and probably a tad bit more evolved just by being bystanders to someone's kindness.
Parenting is such slippery slope. One can only wonder how one can teach pole opposite sentiments at the same time.
"It's not fun without you"
Now, it isn't every day that a teen says fun and you in the same sentence to the parent. I am sure you are nodding your head in agreement if you had experienced it first hand. Unable to say no to that nicety, I stepped out throwing caution to air, quiet literally (if I had to use that buzz word 'literally' that every one and their brother's neighbors use these days)
As we approached the sandwich place, I saw a hefty old man nuzzled into a wrought iron chair, his chin tucked into his chest, looking every bit peaceful as the Buddha. Even in his sitting posture, I could get a sense of how tall he was, as his long legs lay entwined at their feet, his knees pointing outward, making the chair diminish in its dimension. But what really caught my attention wasn't his austere face, or the matted hair and shoes, or even the soiled clothes. He had bruises on his face, protruding bruises that looked fresh and quiet painful. Raised pebble like blood red spots between his eyes, on the forehead and cheekbones looked like distracting adornments on his sanguine face. He was oblivious to the world. Sleeping in a nonchalance that looked impossible to me, from the way his bruises appeared. Right next to him I spotted a noisy sibling duo, two toddler brothers raging in an argument about something. They didn't register into my mind as much as the old man did as a part of me was wondering about the source, symmetry and the rawness of those wounds on the man's face and how he could look so at peace, without as much as a wrinkle of pain on his face.
I held the door open to the younger one of the brothers and let him walk into the shop, where I spotted the mother of these two young men. After my own kid was let in to place her order, I settled in a chair opposite to the older kid, lost in reading a book.
When I heard the door screech, I looked up to see if my kid came out with her order. It was the woman. She walked out, settled in the chair with the boys and started eating her sandwich. By this time, I hadn't noticed, the old man was up.
"DO you want to share my sandwich?" the woman asked him while simultaneously pulling out one half of her meal. The old man came forward with eager hands and quickly got to munching it - with the same nonchalance intact. Now my gaze darted to the older of the kids. He looked at what was unfolding with great absorption. A part of me was half guessing that he would open his mouth and say something - Be curious about the wounds perhaps?, Express disgust about the appearance? We can trust the kids to do such things - unfiltered blurting out of what ever crosses their mind. Just then the mother pulled out a banana from her bag and handed it to the old man. The kid's open mouth closed firmly, still intent in observing the man chewing his food noisily.
In the meanwhile, my kid came out and I got up to leave. I waited for the mother to make an eye contact with me. I wanted to flash a smile of approval. Our eyes didn't meet and I left the place, not knowing I was smiling to myself.
"That kid learned a very important lesson today" I told my daughter and narrated the whole incident to her. "The man looked scary amma" She added. "But should we withdraw the empathy we have just because they look scary?" I asked her. "The system kind of makes you cynical" she added. "They preach about caution, stranger danger, not trusting others etcetera. isn't it daunting to heed to that and to your own heart at the same time?"
I fell silent. It was my turn to figure out. "May be we shouldn't let our caution cloud our humanity" I said to her. "May be we'll intuitively know when something is dangerous" I continued. But there's as much trust as there is suspicion. There's as much empathy as there is indifference.
"I was kind of surprised she left those kids alone beside that man" She added. I smiled again. There is a new layer to the observation that skipped my mind. That is a mother that didn't let the world get to her. "Bless" I thought, now knowing that this stepping out braving the allergies was beneficial to me. We both walked back smiling and sniffling and probably a tad bit more evolved just by being bystanders to someone's kindness.
Parenting is such slippery slope. One can only wonder how one can teach pole opposite sentiments at the same time.
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