The other morning I woke up and went about my morning routine. I am a very routine oriented person, sometimes to the point of boring. My morning routine involves coffee, taking the dog out, and checking email, Facebook and Pinterest. (If you haven't taken up that obsession yet, it is probably best not to.) Everything was typical and I thought that. The last pin I looked at on Pinterest was a pretty pale and yellow, almost airy, one that reads, "Do something good today."
I'd pinned it several weeks ago as a reminder that each day holds that possibility. It's an important thought, one we too often forget. We all get caught up in our routines and miss opportunities to do something good, beyond what we'd normally do.
However, that morning, the pin did nothing but annoy me. It didn't inspire me, make me smile... it made me want to delete it. It was a "mocking-pin" that morning.
You see, as soon I pried myself away from the computer, we were on our way to visit my ex-husband. He has spent the last two years in prison. That pin... well, it mocked what I was about to do. Drive for hours, enter a prison with little more than my car key and ID, be patted down, asked numerous questions, watch the same be done to my children, be led into a hopelessly dismal, institutional room and sit for four hours with a man who'd turned my world completely upside down. If that wasn't "doing something good", I didn't know what was.
In some other post, I'll explain our visits in length. But for now, understand that it was MY choice to take the children to visit their father. It is MY belief that, whenever possible, children need both parents' love and guidance to live happy, productive lives. Because of MY choices and MY beliefs, we visit.
So, in annoyance, I gathered the last of the necessities and piled the children into the car. Still stewing about that pin as we pulled into a gas station not far from our house, I put the car in park and noticed a junky car pull into the pump next to me. The man sat in his car, just sat holding the wheel, as I went inside to pre-pay.
By the time I came out of the store, he was out of his car. He called out, "Ma'am. Ma'am." (For the record, I hate being called ma'am.) I ignored him and kept walking back to my car with purpose. He called out again, "Ma'am. Can you please help me? Can you please put some gas in my car?"
Furious. That is the only word to describe my feeling at that moment. I thought to myself, "Good Christ, mister, you are asking the wrong person for money. I am an only parent. In fact, I am headed to a prison! The little money I have is going to get there and back, with enough for a Starbucks treat along the way. I hate when people ask me for money... mainly because I don't have any. Seriously, why are you asking me?"
Aloud, I said, "No, I don't have anything." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his hands go up, lift his derby hat off his head, and be pulled through his thick brown hair in desperation. For a second, I ignored it all.
As the car began to fill with gas, the sun shone through the back windows and I glanced at my children in the back seat. They worked together, setting up the portable DVD player and arranging their toys bags. I tapped the window with my key and they both looked up and smiled at me. It was then I heard that voice, the one inside that guides me through everything. It asked, "What if they needed gas?"
"Damn it all to hell," I stated.
My friend Jen once explained to me how she can not look in any animals' face without seeing the face of her beloved dog, Angus. Her explanation has stayed with me, as I realize I feel the same way about animals... and now about my children. In others' faces, I sometimes see my own children and therefore, feel more compelled to react to well, whatever the circumstances may be.
I climbed back into the car, reached into my wallet, and dug out a five dollar bill. There went my Starbucks.
Easing out of the car, I searched the gas station for the man. He wasn't at his car, or anywhere close. Finally, I located him, across the side street, pacing near my favorite pizza place. I observed him for several minutes. He was clean and somewhat well dressed, as if he'd been out for the night. He was handsome and completely out of place, pacing, lifting ashtrays and scouring the ground for loose change. I just watched him and felt worse than I'd felt all day.
He made his way back to the station and I called out to him. "Sir. Sir." (I wonder if he hates to be called sir.)
He came towards me, with a look of slight confusion on his face. As the he moved, the sun no longer made a shadow on his face, and for the first time, I looked at it. His face, his eyes... were broken.
I stretched out my hand and he reached for the bill as I said, "It's all I have. It will only get you a gallon of gas." I turned away as he thanked me and called out with sincerity, "Bless you, bless you." I ignored him and went back to the details of leaving for a long drive.
Inside the car, I turned to face my children. My daughter asked what I was doing out there. I told her that man needed some money for gas, so I gave him a little bit. She asked why he didn't have any money for gas, and I explained that sometimes, people just don't. She cocked her head and replied, "Well, that was a good thing to do, Mama." Ah, I felt like a shit.
Reaching for my seat belt, my eyes made contact with the man's eyes. He stood beside his car, waiting for the gas to pump, looking at me. His eyes were pale blue, clear, his face was full of color and bore the slightest smile, the corners of his mouth turned only slightly upward. His gaze transfixed me for a moment, as only one word played in my head. Broken.
He raised his hand in thanks, and I acknowledged with a smile and wave and then drove away. I will never forget that face. Ever.
I'd seen broken faces before. They've been in my classroom, on the subway, in the prison, and in the reflection of the mirror. People get broken, just like toys and furniture and bicycles. They are broken for various reasons and most likely, do not desire to stay broken. They want help and understanding and compassion and guidance. Most of the time, as with this man,... or maybe with you and me...we don't know what makes them broken. But they are, and they need something to fix them. It takes more than glue to fix them. It takes more than patience and knowledge and kindness to fix them. It takes more than "doing something good today" to fix them... but that's a start.
There isn't a broken face that I won't see my own in. And therefore, there isn't a broken face I won't help... in some way. Ever.
This post is dedicated to Shannon, who served me a reminder.
It is also dedicated to that man with the handsome, broken face. I hope that tank of gas got him some place good.
