Who Are We?

KG, thanks for the heartfelt post. Something similar happened to me just before Thanksgiving last year. Being single, alone and having no family in the area, I figured why not? I ended up volunteering at a local soup kitchen on T-Day. It had a profound impact on me.

Here's the copy-and-paste on my experience that day (I did the same thing on Christmas Day):


I am truly thankful... and humbled, friends. I spent almost five hours on Thanksgiving Day serving food at a shelter and for the first time in a very long time, I came away feeling I had done something meaningful.

The people receiving the food were at different times, appreciative, thankful and, yes, embarrassed a bit for accepting the grub. My heart was tugged all day long listening to the words of thanks, feeling the grip of their handshakes and then watching them head out the door to the cold and snow that awaited their uncertain futures.

I'll be the first to admit I should never, ever whine or complain about my situation. My problems and issues are trivial compared to what these poor folks face on an everyday, heck, everyhour, basis.

I was truly amazed at how many of these down-on-their-luck people recognized a sports writer with big spoon in his hand, an apron around his chest and a cap on his head. One woman even said: "I've slept with you." Seeing what was most assuredly a look of astonishment run across my face, she smiled and explained that last summer, she used a paper with my column logo in it to sleep on. Needless to say, I was more than a bit red!

What was touching is how many youngsters wanted to ask me sports questions about the Cavaliers, the Browns, the Indians and the Buckeyes. I was glad to engage them in conversation and got a kick out of asking them who their favorite players were, etc.

Finally, one youngster, who was 10 or 11, said to me, "I can't believe the Indians finally made the playoffs!" When I told him it didn't happen for me until I was 31, his jaw almost dropped into his mashed potatoes!

Once again, thanks to one and all who encouraged me to take the chance and do this. It will go down as one of my most enjoyable Thanksgivings. Before departing and heading to the office, I told the people in charge of the place they would see me next year.

Happy Day After, everyone.

 

I doubt I will ever have as intense a feeling like the one KG described as when I was in high school, a private joint. We needed to do community service, and so I and some friend signed up to deliver Christmas presents to inner city homes. All of them were substandard, but I'll never forget the one.
We entered through a cracked doorway with a raggedy blanket separating outside from in. The mother of the house had to guide us past a section of floor that she said would have collapsed if we put too much weight on it. There was a large rectangular wooden box for a toilet. The children's beds were decrepit mattresses, only you couldn't see them very well, because the only light in the row home was a 15-watt bulb in the corner attached to a beat-up lamp.
We marched in with Santa hats and bags full of toys in them, and at least I felt like a fool. Here we are with brand-name corporate plastic crap, when what this family really needs it a goddamn door and functioning pipes, an overhead lamp. Then again, who knows if they would have been able to afford the bills?
It couldn't have been any greater a contrast, not because we were white and they were black, but because the most worn pair of shoes on our feet that day were nicer than any footwear I imagine they'd ever have. We couldn't relate. I could barely keep it together. And yet, she still offered us something to drink.
I can't recall if anyone accepted, though I do remember getting back in a Volvo, traversing city miles until the blight turned into our comforted territory and we could let the memory fade in the sunlight of our privilege.
The weight of that scene still presses me each Christmas, and every time I drive through any inner city in winter, I wonder what happened to that family. Or worst of all, I wonder whether I once skipped over their names while flipping past the obituaries in the city newspaper.

 

According to Second Harvest, every dollar you donate provides 16 meals. That's a lot of help to people who need it.

September is "Get Ready for Hunger Action Month."

Check it out: http://www.secondharvest.org/