Just the other night, my partner and I found ourselves working later than usual. During the drive home, he reminded me that we hadn’t hit the grocery store over the weekend and our fridge was practically empty—except for a couple of cat and dog treats, two crusty ends of a loaf of bread, and half a jar of delicious Trader Joe’s Cookie Butter.
“I could swing by a fast food place,” I suggested, “I know we’re not fans, but the kids love it, and it’s quick and cheap.”
He agreed, so there I was, idling in the drive-thru of a place I’d rather avoid. You know, the usual worries—Styrofoam waste, sodium overload, low wages, and questionable ingredients. (Okay, I’ll stop before I spiral into another Gen-X guilt trip.)
After I placed our order, which, let me tell you, overloaded the McDonald’s system, I was instructed to pull forward and wait for my food. As I began to roll up my manual window (budget-friendly, folks), an older gentleman approached my car.
“Did they happen to slip an extra burger in your bag?” he asked.
“Nope, not yet,” I replied.
“No worries, ma’am. God bless you; I hope you have a great night.” He then ambled away to settle next to a rather old-looking bag, possibly dating back to the 1970s.
In the backseat, two of our three kids were already chiming in. “Mom…” began Max (14), followed by a chorus of “Yeah, Mom…” from Lily (10).
“I know,” I said, “I’m just waiting for our order. Max, can you help?”
“Absolutely!” he said, snatching a $10 bill I handed him and making his way to the gentleman.
With my window still down, I heard him say, “Let’s go grab you some dinner,” before they both headed inside.
A few moments later, an employee delivered our order, and Max returned with change. As we pulled out of the lot, I thanked him, prompting Lily to declare, “I hope he finds a warm place to sleep tonight.”
“Me too, sweetheart,” I said.
“But at least he’s not hungry anymore,” she added.
“Exactly,” I agreed, “that’s what matters.”
This moment filled me with pride for our kids. They may not be academic superstars; they often forget their homework—every night. They might not be the most athletic or talented, but they possess an incredible, beautiful compassion.
They don’t see “them” versus “us.” Instead, they see “we.” They don’t categorize by “black” or “white”; they recognize the “gray.” They listen to news radio with me, asking questions and trying to make sense of a world filled with chaos, despite my reminders that much of it doesn’t make sense.
They crave love and detest hate, yearning for the utopia I dreamt of at their age, a vision that faded as I matured and reality set in. But perhaps not as much as I worry; while many lament about this generation’s future, I look at my kids and think, “We’re leaving our legacy in some pretty capable hands.”
Their understanding of compassion isn’t derived from lectures or books; it’s learned through our actions. As parents, the examples we set resonate far more loudly than the words we say.
This article is part of the 1000 Voices for Compassion Campaign. For more parenting insight, check out our other posts, like this one on home insemination that delves into the world of family planning.
Summary:
In a heartfelt narrative, Jamie Collins shares a touching experience that highlights the importance of compassion and action in parenting. A simple act of kindness from her son, Max, towards a homeless man while waiting for fast food exemplifies the values she hopes to instill in her children. Despite their occasional forgetfulness and lack of athletic prowess, the children demonstrate a profound capacity for empathy and understanding, showcasing that actions truly speak louder than words.