A kind story
Many years ago, when I first married, we had very little money and lived paycheck to paycheck. My wife was pregnant with our first child, and I worked a part-time job. I went to the supermarket a few days before payday and bought only what we really needed. Some bread. Some dish soap. I am thinking of a jar of mayonnaise. Overall, about $10 worth of goods.
At the cashier, I swiped my debit card in the hopes that it would clear. The cashier said, “Declined.” “Try again.” I requested her to return an item, then swiped with the revised total while a line developed behind me. The cashier, now upset, said, “Declined again.” I hung my head when I swiped the last time, but I was still embarrassed when the card was approved to purchase that tiny loaf of bread.
I collected my receipt and slunk out to my car, wanting to hide because I felt humiliated, embarrassed, and like a failure as a provider. I was almost to the car when I heard the voice of a small girl behind me, standing in line with her mother. “Mister! Mister!” I turned around, and she reached out and handed me a plastic shopping bag. It was filled with the products I had the clerk return.
“It’s okay, we bought this for you.” Surprised, astonished, and humbled, I mumbled “thank you,” walked to my car, placed my head on the steering wheel, and sobbed like a baby. With embarrassment, thankfulness, the absurdity of the situation, and dissatisfaction in myself for being the “breadwinner” while failing to meet fundamental requirements.
It’s been roughly 25 years, but the memory remains vivid, and I’m still grateful to that little girl and her mother. I still cry when I think about how such a tiny act can mean so much to someone in need. Since then, I’ve assisted others whenever we could afford it (yes, even in shopping lines).
