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Under the Sun Cynthia Oi |
Kindness cuts through
an intersection of selfishnessTHE TIME of day and the day itself usually figure in when driving downtown for periodic meetings at the home office.
Beretania, Kapiolani or the freeway are the usual routes, and on a recent Tuesday I aimed the trusty Toyota toward the H-1 since it was mid-afternoon and traffic doesn't seem to get very heavy until later. Then, as I edged the car from the onramp into the right lane, I remembered the man.
He'd been there the last three or four times I'd gotten off at the Punchbowl exit, prowling back and forth along the divide at the intersection. When I first saw him, I thought he was just an unlucky pedestrian, one of those occasionally trapped by a signal change while crossing Vineyard. I paid him no mind except to make sure he stood steady on the narrow slab of concrete laid down for his safety.
He got my attention when he stepped from the sidewalk onto the blacktop and pulled a folded piece of cardboard from his back pocket. He paced slowly alongside the cars, holding the cardboard close to the drivers' windows for a couple of seconds before moving past.
The cars in front of me had windows up, but I'd rolled mine down because the air-conditioning in my ride has been balky and because I like real air while on the road. He didn't appear dangerous. From a distance he looked groomed, jeans and shirt clean, shoes worn but not ratty. Still, better to be safe than sorry, I thought, and cranked up the glass and elbowed the door lock down.
His message, printed in neat black letters on that creased brown paper, was all too familiar: Homeless, jobless, hungry, but eager to find work. I glanced at it quickly, then shifted eyes forward in the practiced technique of urban defense used in such encounters -- don't stare, don't make eye contact, don't respond, don't even acknowledge. But peripheral vision failed me. Thinking he'd gone past, I looked up and saw his face. It was filmed with sweat and humiliation.
Before I could react, the light changed. A toot from a horn in back gave me absolution for whizzing away and I soon forgot about him.
Until the next trip to town. There he was with the same cardboard sign. I took refuge in rationalizations -- you can't help everybody; if you give them money, they'll just buy booze and get drunk; they made their bed, let them sleep in it. It salved my guilt when I looked around and saw that except for a curious little boy in the back of a minivan, occupants of the cars were trying their best to ignore the fellow, just like I was. We all drove by.
So on that afternoon, I considered bailing off the freeway and taking a different route. I did not want to confront that man again, to silently reject his plea for help.
I had another choice, which was to give him some money. If he used the cash to further worsen his condition -- buying drugs or whatever -- or to fill his stomach, it wasn't something I could control. My part would be to lend a hand, what ordinarily most of us would do if we could set aside fear and selfishness.
It is instinctive for humans to support each other. It is why on a bright morning last Saturday, Charlotte Paige Schaefers, a 5-year-old girl with a wide smile, jumped into a rain-flooded catchment basin to try to save a neighborhood toddler. As tragically as her deed ended, it was an act of pure and luminous grace.
The man spared me by being absent that day, but I'll look for him the next time. Charlotte has reminded me that kindness is the path to take.
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Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin since 1976. She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.