Lessons from the Food Pantry

We don't have as many opportunities to volunteer as we'd like (coordinating the schedules of five people in one house with lots of activities is mind-boggling sometimes) but we try when we can to help at a food pantry on the north end of town.  I'm pleased that my kids jump at the chance to go when I can find someone to cover me at work and can arrange to volunteer.  There are lots of important lessons to be learned there.

In this season of food drives and increased interest in charity, I thought I'd take a moment to share what we've learned at the food pantry in the hopes it may help guide people in their giving.  Maybe these are things that only surprised me as I saw what items people in need selected, but maybe it's information others can use as well.

The most popular items on the shelves of the section of the food pantry I've helped with were: cooking oil, cooking spray, flour, sugar, and spices such as cinnamon and garlic powder.

These are things I have never thought to donate, and yet they are the kinds of things I make sure are stocked in my own kitchen all the time.  Why would I think someone else's kitchen would be that different?  I think it comes down to looking around more at what you can spare when you make donations, rather than for what other people actually need.  People coming to the food pantry need the same things we need.  Now I buy extra of those things so I can spare them.

That's My Girl!

My Mona.  In some respects she's my easiest child, but in many she's the most complicated of my three children.  She's gone from being a bold and fearless toddler and preschooler to a more self-conscious and emotional grade-schooler.  She's creative and funny, sometimes reclusive but other times eager to join in as long as a group makes her feel safe.  She can work on projects silently for hours, but she can also be loud.  She's shy and silly and sweet.

Tonight I was really proud of her.  We went to St Ben's to do our monthly volunteering there, and she seemed much more at home.  She was nervous the first time, handing out forks and spoons to people in the food line and not making eye contact.  The next couple of times she handed out fruit or desserts and was better about engaging everyone.  She even brought a stuffed animal to give away to a child in the line.

This time she was comfortable enough that I didn't even have to be in her line of sight.  She and Quinn handed out desserts together and I was able to go into the back room and help wash dishes.  (Someone back there joked that I must have drawn the short straw, but the truth is I like the harder work.  I like feeling as if I'm getting something done.)

When it was time for us to go eat, an old man came up to Mona at our table and used a line on her that was intended to be charming, but was in reality a little awkward.  He said, "I bet I know your name!"  Mona smiled politely and looked interested, and then he said, "It's Cutie, right?  Because you're a cutie?"

What would you do with that?  I may have laughed a little and then turned away.  As a self-conscious ten year old I didn't know how Mona would respond.

But you know what she did?  She said, "Actually, my name is Mona.  But thank you for the compliment."  And she went back to her meal.

I was really impressed.  That was a dignified response that left the man happy, too. 

Also impressive:  Mona's recent model of the Wright Brothers' plane that she made for the upcoming Science Fair at school.  (Which relates to nothing else in this post I guess, except that I want to show it off because I think it's so freaking cool.  Now that Mona has permission to use the hot glue gun on her own the sky is no longer the limit.)

Love that Mona.

What a Difference a Pope Makes

I'm an atheist.  I'd say I was an agnostic because there is always room for doubt, but that term implies being more on the fence than is accurate in my case, and it seems disingenuous to use it.

Since I don't believe there is any plan or cosmic justice, I think the responsibility of caring for one another and providing our existence with any meaning falls squarely on us.  My philosophy is we should try to leave the world better than we found it, and to err on the side of compassion whenever possible.  The Golden Rule is a good idea, regardless of where you think it originated.  I honestly believe we are happiest when we are being our best selves, and when we help others instead of behaving selfishly.  Ethics are important to me, and I believe love is at the core of what matters.

The problem with a label like atheist, however, is that I'm lumped in with people based on what we don't believe, not what we do, so we aren't really a group.  We're a vague category at best, and not organized or unified by anything in particular.  There are atheists out there with whom I do not agree on much.  Many people of faith jump to conclusions about what being an atheist may or may not be based on what they assume we lack.  Most of the time the assumptions are negative, so I have found myself in situations where I'm careful not to offer that information about myself.  I don't like being prejudged. 

In turn I try my best not to prejudge others.  I've known people of varying faiths who I thought were admirable, and others who were horrible.  There are people I love dearly who find comfort and inspiration in their religions and I would never begrudge them that.  There are those who cling to their faith out of lazy habit, or to prop up their egos with a sense of superiority, and for that I have little patience.  I don't care what you call your belief system.  I just care that you come to it with intellectual honesty, good intent, and that you don't use it to inflict harm.

Can we please do this again?

The kids and I finally got out for some long overdue volunteer work.

Our lives are busy.  It's a lot of work to run our own store.  We have violin, choir, piano, orchestra, rehearsals, concerts, Army weekends, homework, practicing, projects, exercise...  The daily grind alone of meals and laundry and cleaning for five people plus walking the dog is enough to fill an average day, even without an unexpected monkey wrench thrown into the schedule to make things harder.

But I've always felt we should be making time somewhere to help others because we have so much.  We never want for food or clothes.  We have a home, our health, and most importantly we have each other.  I don't know how people alone in this world get by.  Too many among us aren't so lucky.

Last week Ian took over the last few hours at the store for me one day, and the kids and I joined a family down the street to a Catholic church downtown where they hand out meals to people in need.  I'm so glad we did.

The Man Under the Bridge

The other day I didn't feel like getting organized enough to go for a swim, so instead for a bit of exercise before a full day of work I decided to take the dog on an extra long walk.  I headed up in a direction I never go on foot, by fields and buildings and parks that look different than they do at a glance from the road.

Bay View is an interesting area.  It has some beautiful sections along Lake Michigan, but much of it is grittier and working class with pockets of artistic aspiration.  We're still in the city of Milwaukee but south of downtown, residential but not suburban, green but dense.  When we were house hunting over a decade ago the realtors referred to Bay View as "the affordable East Side."  It doesn't feel cut off from the issues of the city they way suburbs do, but certain problems don't stare us in the face every day.  Like homelessness.

My dad grew up in New York and we used to visit relatives there every few years.  I've taken my kids to New York several times, but it's not the same place I remember as a kid in the 1970s and 80s.  It was grimier, a bit scarier, and my brothers and I found the beggars on the sidewalks confusing and upsetting.  One of my brother's clearest memories of one of those early trips was of a man in a suit rushing along and gingerly stepping over the cane of a blind beggar without a glance back.  It seemed heartless to ignore people in need, but there were so many.  You couldn't blame the man who needed to just be on his way for not stopping because he would never get anywhere if he stopped for them all, but still....

It's a complicated question for people in areas like NewYork where they are confronted with that problem on a daily basis.  They have to be wary of scams in the subways and concerned that maybe handing someone money on the sidewalk is exacerbating problems instead of helping.  They have to decide all the time how much attention they want to pay to the blind beggar with the cane.  I don't know if my heart could take it.  It was the hardest part for me about visiting India, feeling helpless in the face of so much need.

But the truth is such problems are everywhere.  In the suburbs where the environment is manicured and clean, addictions are masked by money and abuse and neglect are hidden behind neatly painted doors.  And in my neighborhood I may not see beggars when I step right outside my house or on my way to work, but desperation exists just past my gaze.  You simply have to know where to look.

And the other day I happened to look under a bridge.

My dog is small and cute, but noisy and loyal.  As easily as I know he could be kicked aside by anyone needing to get past him, he still lends me an air of protection when I walk with him at night or in unfamiliar places.  I'm more inclined to wander somewhere unusual with Chipper than I am all alone because lord help the strange man who thinks that cute little puppy-dog won't bite if someone gets too close to me.

So we walked along some areas with crumbling buildings and strange paths and torn fences near the river.  We explored a park I've never been to and checked out a softball field and a wooded area.  And then when we were back along the main road near our house I noticed for the first time from the bridge that on the bank on the north side of the river there seemed to be some concrete steps.  I was curious.  I crossed the bridge and circled down onto the grassy area to a fence at the top of the slope above the water.  Across the river was a wide set of steps leading to a space overgrown with trees.  I have no idea what it was once for.

But I didn't speculate for long because when I glanced back in the direction I'd come from I realized there were things tucked under the bridge.  It looked like a little makeshift sleeping area.  And there was a bike.  Someone lived under the bridge and he had a bike.  I had never considered a homeless person owning a bike and wondered where he went on it.  Then I saw movement and realized the man under the bridge was getting dressed and I didn't want to cause him any embarrassment so I nudged the dog and headed back up toward the street.

Not a day goes by now that I don't think of the man under the bridge.  My first instinct is to leave him something maybe he could use.  But what would that be?  Is that condescending?  Or dangerous?  Is it kinder to look the other way and pretend I don't know, or is that callous?  Is he happy under the bridge?  Is he suffering?  Is it even any of my business?

The main thing that kept going through my mind as I finished the walk home with my dog was that whoever the man under the bridge is, he was once someone's baby.  How would I feel if one of my babies ended up in a situation that necessitated sleeping on a blanket by a bike under a bridge?  It makes me cry.

I try to help individuals in need when I see an opportunity, but this is definitely an area where people who belong to a church or similar organization have an advantage over those of us who don't.  If you are ready and willing to do something, someone in your organization would likely be able to point you the right direction.  I do think the problems of the homeless are better addressed by groups that understand all the needs involved beyond my superficial concerns.  But I don't belong to such an organization.  I have to make the effort on my own.

For a long time now I've been meaning to investigate the food pantry I've seen signs for outside the jobs center by where I vote.  I finally went there and found a phone number to call and left a message.  My volunteering for the food pantry may not directly impact the specific man I saw, but then again it may.  It's a start.  I talked with my kids about helping out there if the food pantry can use us.  We have so much and want for nothing important and should find the time to help others in need.

I'm not sure where in my schedule I will find that time, but that's not an excuse.  Because how would I take such an excuse from someone else if my son were the man under the bridge?