Three things before I tell the story of this picture. 
First, Riley is 7 and is not allowed in the front seat, but you’ll understand why she briefly was as I go on.
Two, this isn’t a tale about me, but a tale about a child’s heart, and a reminder that it’s possible to retain that compassion as you grow.
Three, there is a ridiculous emoji over this gentleman’s face because, though I’d love you to witness the look on his face, I don’t have that right. I probably shouldn’t have taken the picture to begin with. (Photographer in me, but respect your subjects.)
I decided to share this story right after it happened, though I normally wouldn’t have, because not all tales of compassion need to be told.
This isn’t my tale, and honestly, I’d grown weary of media exploitation, sensationalism, political arguments and the like on Facebook. When you’re tired of what you’re seeing, do you complain? Or do your part to change the view?
I made this post shortly after the Chewbacca Mom broke the internet. I, for one, love her! I love anyone who is joyful. I love hearing people laugh so hard they can’t breathe. Notice that it almost always causes a domino effect and soon everyone is laughing. That’s the ripple I want to make. One of joy.
This past summer, we ran the concessions at an Aquatic Center. On the way to the pool that morning, we passed this man standing on the side of the road. He was holding a piece of cardboard, and since he was by a stop sign, Riley had time to read it. I watched her in the rear view mirror, “Homeless. Just need help.” She mouthed the words for pronunciation and then said it out loud. She looked sad for a moment but it wasn’t long before she was eyeing my bank for the pool and loudly asked me to turn around.
And of course, I did.
I turned into the Walmart parking lot where she grabbed my bank bag and asked to get up front to hand him some money herself. I watched her count it out twice. She told me she thought it was enough for three meals for the day, a blanket and maybe a book. Her words.
She had the window down before we got to him.
My little girl chose to look him in the eye and treat him like a human being. As we left, she wished him a great day.
Not money, compassion.
My daughter doesn’t know what the man is going to do with that money. And the truth is, it doesn’t matter. What he does with it is his choice, his karma. Whether or not we make the choice to give to someone in need, is ours. That’s the lesson I want my children to remember. To be smart with what, where and how you give. But to GIVE and not assume someone isn’t worthy of a gift. To me, being kind and empathetic are innate qualities that we all possess. Putting it to action and being about that life is a choice, whether you’re 7 or 80. Make the right one.
I’ll take my own advice.
