During a recent weekend, I went to CVS to pick up medications after a doctor’s visit. As I walked out, I noticed a father and his daughter in the parking lot holding a sign asking for food or money or just a way to survive. The father’s sign said that he was struggling to find a job and that his daughter was not well.
While I sat in my car and talked with my wife, I could not stop looking at the father and his daughter. My medical training came to mind. The daughter’s lips were very chapped, and she had pinkeye or worse. They looked dehydrated and extremely tired, and the father’s voice had given out. The daughter was too weak to move much.
In my view, they desperately needed water, food, decent rest and some medical care without delay. I have a soft spot for people experiencing homelessness because I have been homeless and I know what it is like to ask for money and be ignored. It takes energy to ask for help. It even takes energy when none of what you do works. I wondered, as I felt waves of emotion, what I had looked like in that position when no help came. People treat you like garbage, like you are not worth their time or even like you are the culprit in your own suffering.
The two human beings before me, struggling to live, were worth as much as anyone else. In the next minute, I made a few phone calls that sent help on the way.
On a recent morning, my wife packed two bagels for me — one for breakfast and the other for lunch. I had eaten the first one by the time I reached the stoplight at DuSable Lake Shore Drive on my way to Adler University. There, I noticed what appeared to be an elderly man in a black baseball cap, a pink shirt, destroyed jeans and shoes that barely had soles. His skin was deeply wrinkled, burned and unshaven. He weakly held a sign that spoke of his homelessness and hunger. He was battered by the sun and rising heat that morning and weathered from maybe a lifetime of being abandoned.
Feeling for him, I drove up to where he stood in the intersection, glad that the always-long traffic light would hold me there for a while. I rolled down my window and told him that I had only a bagel. He accepted my bagel with thanks. I asked his name and his age. When he answered, “Tim, 48,” I saw that most of his teeth were gone. All things considered, he looked at least 65.
Another question came to mind. I asked: “May I write an article about you today?” He said, “Yes,” as he nodded. I told him, “I’m sorry for what you’ve been experiencing and how you got to this point. I know you might feel like you’ve been abandoned. I know because I’ve been there too. Please remember, though, that no one has ever been abandoned completely or forever.” Tim looked and listened intently while eating the bagel. I was starting to feel emotional, so I closed the conversation with, “I kept going, and I hope you will, too, Tim. I wish you a wonderful day.”
As I drove away, I saw him in my rearview mirror smiling and waving at me. I cried nearly all the way to school — thanking God for goodness, bagels and Tim.
We often encounter opportunities in our daily lives to extend kindness to others, but we may rely too much on the assumption that others will be moved to show compassion and take action. No one is perfect.
Faith leaders: What if we used the housing crisis to unite rather than further divide Chicagoans?
These moments, whether big or small, can leave lasting impressions on the giver and the receiver — even if what was given was just a plain bagel, help through a phone call or words of encouragement. These gifts can mean as much as money. These two experiences have reinforced all this for me.
These encounters reminded me of the profound impacts of empathy and compassion and, as an emerging psychologist, the importance of staying attuned to the needs of others. By paying attention and keeping our hearts open, we can find countless ways to make positive differences in the lives of those in our communities.
Chris Schroeder, an Evanston resident, is a graduate student at Adler University.
Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email letters@chicagotribune.com.
