On Kindness

Sometimes, it seems people today lack empathy and can be dismissive and blind to others’ problems, especially to the elderly or disabled, but in truth, some people go out of their way to be kind and supportive, which is easy to forget when inundated with social media or news. I am grateful for all the kind acts I have witnessed. I have to admit, though, sometimes it’s hard to be the recipient. Slowly, I’m learning how to accept as well as give those generous acts that keep us all going.

When my father was alive, people from his American Legion group or Catholic Knights of Columbus organization went out of their way to make sure he had a ride to their meetings and events. At first, he declined the offers and grumbled to me, “I'm not so old that I can't drive myself.” I campaigned for several weeks to convince him that it was better to let someone else drive at night. “They're not spring chickens, either,” he muttered. I reminded him that he was in his 90’s and the latest gentleman offering to car pool was in his early 70's. “Big difference, Dad,” I said. “Hmph,” he muttered. Eventually, he conceded when I pointed out that those men also liked talking to him and enjoyed his company. 

If my father didn’t show up for mass on a Sunday, his friends, who all went to the same mass every week, would call, worried, and he did the same for them. When one of them didn't show up one day, my father called her daughter who rushed over to the woman's house and found her passed out on the bathroom floor. She'd had a stroke and had lain there all night. She might have died if she had lain there longer.

People at the community center where Dad exercised looked out for him, especially in the locker room where he had fallen a few times; someone always helped him get up and made sure he was okay. I think that’s why he felt safer showering there than at home. When he had a heart attack in the steam room, someone stayed with his fallen body while someone else called 911. The paramedics tried to revive him en route to the hospital, but he died anyway. The kind gestures and outpouring from the staff and his fellow members to my family continued for months, which made it awkward for me; their kind words and acts as they saw me exercising there forced me to focus on my grief.

People are kind like that to me now in disconcerting ways. I guess I look old with my gray hair and wrinkling skin, though I’m only in my 60’s. One evening, my car’s warning light for low tire pressure came on while I was driving. I stopped at a WaWa to use the free air machine. I have an old pressure gauge stick I’ve used for years, but I couldn’t get it to work right. A young guy using the other air pump offered to help. He told me it’s better to “trust the machine, instead,” meaning the air machine, which actually shows the tires’ pressure. He demonstrated how to use it, then insisted on filling all of my tires for me. He shrugged off my thanks. “No problem!” he said, “Have a good night!” I drove away, thankful and relieved.

The next day the warning light flashed on again as I drove to the community center to use the indoor pool. It was cold out, so I thought maybe it was just the change in temperature causing the tires to expand or contract. When I got there, I discovered that one of them was flat.

Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my purse or cell phone because I was afraid to leave them in a locker or in my car. I went inside to the front desk and asked to use their phone to call a Subaru dealer. The woman there suggested I check the side window frame to see if there was a phone number for an emergency assistance service. I went back out to look; one of the young guys (probably in his early twenties) who also works the front desk wandered out with me. He looked at the tire and discovered a nail in it. It had probably been there the night before, too, but it had been too dark to see it. The hole, I guess, got bigger as I drove.

As we stood there, another man (probably in his early thirties) walked past, and said, “Hey, I can change that for you.” I explained I didn’t have my wallet and couldn’t pay him. He waved his hand in a “no big deal” kind of gesture. “That’s okay. It’s no problem. I can do this pretty quickly.” In fifteen minutes, he had the tire off the wheel and replaced it with the donut. It would have taken less time, but he had to jack it down again to work off the lug nuts, then back up to get the tire off. The younger man watched closely, wanting to learn how to change a tire, so he patiently explained the process to both of us as he did it.

“Thank you very, very much,” I said, shaking his hand. He warned me: “Don’t drive over 50 MPH with the donut on and get to a tire place as soon as possible. Don’t drive around with it more than you need to.” He waved me on as he stood and talked to the other guy while I drove away, wondering at my luck in finding someone to help two days in a row.

Kindness continues to happen where I least expect it. On a recent visit to New York City, I had to use the subway system to get from where the bus dropped me off to where I was staying. This meant climbing up and down steep stairs, hauling my suitcase and a small backpack. My knees and back could barely manage even without the luggage. A woman, probably in her early twenties, saw me struggling as she passed. She stopped and offered to carry my suitcase up the stairs. “Oh no,” I said, “I can manage,” though I clearly couldn’t. 

“It’s okay, really. Please let me help you,” she said. I reluctantly let go of the handle, and she carried the bag up to the top. I’ve heard stories of New York subways, so I was terrified she would just run off with it, but she kindly waited for me to catch up to her. Half way up those stairs, I realized how grateful I was she had insisted. When I reached the top, she said, “I hope you have a good stay in NYC!” and walked away so quickly I’m not sure she heard my, “Thank you!” Part of accepting kindness involves trust, and that’s sometimes difficult. 

A few days before this past Christmas, I flew to Las Vegas to visit my niece. The plane was crowded, and like most other travelers, I had a carry-on suitcase as large as the airline would allow, to avoid paying luggage fees. When I tried to lift it to place it in the overhead compartment, I couldn't get it high enough. Fortunately, the gentleman behind me quickly grabbed it as it threatened to fall out of my hands. “Here, let me do that for you,” he said, quickly stowing it tightly into the compartment. “Thank you,” I said, easing into my seat. “No problem,” he said, walking further on. After we landed, the man in the seat in front of mine grabbed my bag as I pulled it out, helping me place it down on the floor. “Careful, there,” he said. I'm not sure if that was as much kindness as self-preservation, but it was a huge help.

Even a TSA agent at the airport was kind, chatting with me about knee replacement surgery as she waved the wand over me. I had set off the metal detector, so I had to be scanned manually. I thought it was because of the metal in my knees and back from surgeries, but it turned out to be the keys I forgot I had put in my pocket instead of my purse I’d stuffed into the small backpack I was using as a second carry-on bag by pretending it was kind of a purse. The young male TSA agent kept his face professionally bland, but the other, older female agent laughed and said, “Stuff like this happens all the time. Tell me about your knee surgery. I have to have mine done soon,” and we chatted briefly as she walked me toward the conveyor belt with my bags.

Later, in Vegas, as I struggled to haul my bags up an escalator to catch the monorail to the other terminal, a woman, probably in her early twenties, stopped as she passed me, and said, “Do you need help, Ma'am?” 

“No, no, I'm okay,” I said, not wanting to admit that I wasn't quite up to a simple escalator ride with my bags. 

“Please,” she said. “Let me help you. You're making me a little nervous that you might fall.” She grabbed the suitcase and easily carried it along with her own and several other smaller ones as we rode up those moving stairs of treachery. “Thank you,” I said, actually resenting the assumption that I was weak and might fall just because I was struggling to lift the stupid bags quickly enough onto the rising stairs. It's a balancing act, I admit, but I did it in the airport in Philadelphia without help. I have to concede that I almost fell then. I caught myself, but it was close. When she handed my suitcase to me with a smile, saying “Hope you enjoy Vegas,” I just smiled back and said, “You too.” It reminded me that sometimes the hardest part of kindness is accepting it with grace.