This Thanksgiving, I’m departing from our regular feast of turkey, cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, and all the other traditional foods for dinner. And I won’t be eating pumpkin or apple pie for dessert either.
This year I’ll be eating my words for the main course and then a heaping serving of humble pie for dessert.
What has caused such a drastic change in the holiday menu at our house, you may ask?
Last weekend The Wife and I took a trip to Washington, D.C., to visit family. While there, we stayed at a downtown hotel with all the comforts of home – except breakfast. On each of the five mornings we were there, we ventured out in search of breakfast (the most important meal of the day) and braved the polar vortex that had temperatures plummeting down into the teens.
A short 10-minute walk found us in front of a fast-food restaurant, but to enter, we had to make our way around two homeless gentlemen. They were huddled just outside the entrance, using it as feeble protection from the relentless and bitter cold wind.
How anyone could say the homeless are invisible didn’t see what we did on our trip. A quick look up and down the street revealed the homeless huddled in any doorway that could offer a moment’s protection before they were chased away. We sidestepped the two gentlemen, went inside, and enjoyed both the warmth of the establishment and our hearty breakfast.
The second day of our trip started out the same. Same trek for breakfast, same polar vortex and relentless wind, and same two homeless gentlemen huddled in the doorway of the fast-food restaurant just trying to keep warm.
Again we sidestepped them and went inside for breakfast. Afterwards, I had to use the bathroom but couldn’t. The door was locked with a keypad. When asked why, the lady behind the counter said it was so only paying customers could use the bathroom. The she nodded towards the homeless men who were still huddled outside.
With breakfast finished, we got up to leave, and The Wife asked, “Do you want to give those men any money?”
I said, “No. There’s no telling what they would do with it.”
We left and went about enjoying time with our family. That evening we walked back to our hotel from the Metro, and the gentlemen were still huddled outside the restaurant.
On the third day, things were quite different. The polar vortex and wind brought with them a pounding rain. With our newly bought all-weather coats, hoods, scarves, boots and gloves, we were protected from the rain and cold down to well below zero. I had so many layers on I was almost sweating.
The Wife and I laughed as we ran through puddles before finally making our way back to the same restaurant for breakfast. The two homeless gentlemen were there too, soaked, along with their meager belongings stuffed in assorted bags. With difficulty, we sidestepped them once again and made our way inside.
After breakfast The Wife and I went back up the counter. She turned and asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking.”
I replied, “Yes.”
She bought two gift certificates for several meals, and we handed them to the gentlemen huddled outside. Both averted their eyes as them mumbled a thank you, then went inside for warmth, breakfast, and use of the restroom if needed.
I felt rather proud of myself that afternoon when we were telling some friends what we had done. That’s when I heard my words again, spoken by one of our friends, “I hope you didn’t give them money, no telling what they’d do with it.”
Funny, when I had said those words, it hadn’t bothered me. But as we made our way back to the warmth of our hotel and we again passed the two homeless gentlemen on that cold November day with the rain still pounding the pavement, those words I’d spoken a few days earlier really got to me. I whispered those words again to myself and found them to actually taste bitter.
As far back as I can remember, Dad has said, “Actions speak louder than words.” That may be true, but hearing my own words come back to me that day made more of an impact than any action ever would. They were extremely loud, clear, and above all else, uncaring.
The pride of what The Wife and I had done that morning was instantly replaced with remorse because we … I … hadn’t done it three days earlier.
It’s the act of giving to others in need that really matters. What someone does with that gift or whether they even appreciate it shouldn’t stop you from giving. I made that mistake once, but I won’t make it again.
This Thanksgiving as you enjoy family, friends and the all the food that helps make the holiday special, remember those who have none of those things.
If they’re huddled in a doorway, don’t simply walk past three times like we did. Help them out the first time you see them.
Now, I know this is but a simple solution, one that won’t solve the problem of the homeless. But it’s a start. And if everyone helped the first time they past, there would be fewer folks in need, and a lot fewer of us left out in the cold.
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, served as a firefighter for more than two decades and has been a weekly columnist since 2001. His email is [email protected]. His books are available at www.RickRyckeley.com.]
