We open doors for others, we help an old lady load her groceries, we stand aside for those in a wheelchair and we save a space in traffic then wave someone in. We Americans are known for our kindness, for our compassion for those in need of help.
Personally, I have made a lot of friends simply by displaying courtesy, displaying compassion. There is this old lady, well into her eighties, across the street from one of our rental homes. Something is wrong with one of her hips, probably fell, broke her hip. She must use a cane, walks with a serious limp, walks very slowly and carefully.
She and her neighbors have those big roll around trash cans provided by our city. One of my chores is to go around once a week to edge and mow lawns at our rentals. I enjoy this, gives me a chance to get outdoors, see what is going on out there. Years back, I am mowing away then notice this old gal struggling to roll her trashcan curb side. She is not having much luck, keeps dropping her cane. This ain't right. I shut off my mower then go running over before she breaks her hip again. She is just tickled I would help her, invites me up to her porch for ice tea. We sit, talk, have fun and become good friends.
I changed my mowing schedule around so I would be over there day before trash day so I can roll her three cans out, household garbage, yard greens and recyclables. Not much there, usually just her household needs rolling out. I must answer to my compassion.
These days, she and a girlfriend are always out there on the old gal's front porch, just waiting for me to show-up. They watch me edge, mow, dump my mower bag of grass, then roll out our tenant's trashcans, then over to her house to take care of her cans.
Every Wednesday, those elderly women are waiting on me. Her girlfriend is almost ninety. Tell you, they are quite the pair to draw too! Always have a wet cloth for me to wipe sweat off my face, always have a tall ice cold glass of ice tea for me along with homemade treats, usually cookies or brownies. Not so good for my big butt.
Sometimes they spike my ice tea with whiskey, shush me with a finger to lips, like we are doing something really naughty. On the whiskey days, boy howdy, those girls get to telling some pretty wild stories, usually really naughty stories. I like naughty stories of yesteryear, half century old naughty stories. Naughty back then is nothing like today. Old gal will get to blushing while telling me a story of a boy courting her, "He drove me down to a soda fountain shop, treated me to an ice cream sundae. Oh, that boy was so tall and so handsome, those blue eyes of his gave me the vapors," then those two old girls take to giggling and looking around to make sure none are watching. This is their naughty.
I have a lot of good friends because of compassion. Friend in a wheelchair, a blind friend, and lots of elderly friends, like those old girls. Lots and lots of elderly friends. They are the best, they tell such endearing stories which I memorize and tell to others. Their stories live on, unknown to them. In a small way, my friends become legendary.
Look at my photograph below. Who is displaying old fashion true American compassion?
