Pan Handle

DK's Donuts sits on the corner of 13th and State. It's a small shop, but it seemed to be right in my way as I drove home after returning Caroline to her home last Friday, so, yes, I went in.

Generally, I stay out of places like that, but that day I stepped in and bought an old fashioned buttermilk bar. Oh my, they are good, and very full of everything I should not eat. But, hey.

I was the only customer that afternoon, and my car the only one parked outside.

When I went out to my car, carrying my bag of donut, I saw a man crouched by the large gray garbage can which stood against the building. It startled me to see someone there. He did not look good, as you can imagine.

If I had not looked directly at him, I might have passed and gotten into my car without this incident continuing. But I was looking directly at him. You know, eye contact. And so he spoke to me, which also startled me. "Excuse me ma'am, but do you have any change?"

It doesn't take long to think something like this through, to figure what he wants your money for, to think of giving him your donut and to reject that idea because it was the last buttermilk bar--really, I thought that--or to decide if you will give him some money or not. So only a second or so passed before I responded, "Well, yes, I do." Which meant--to me--that I would give him some money. Perhaps it meant that to him, but he continued, saying something like, "I really need it." And by now he was on his feet.

I opened my wallet and put my fingers on the two dollars I had--certainly not my last two dollars--and asked, "And what do you need it for?"

"I want to go to Burger King and get something to eat." And there is a Burger King about four blocks further on down State Street. So it could have been true.

I cannot say that I believed him, but I was going to give him the two dollars anyway. I said, "Well, it's only two dollars." And he said, "That's all I need." And I said, "Do the people in there (the donut shop) know you're out here doing this?"

"No, I don't think so, or they'd make me leave."

"Yes, they would."

I gave him the money and he headed off down the alley--yes, in the direction of the Burger King--thanking me over and over again.

Of course, I don't know where he ended up. I know this: he looked, as they say, down and out and quite hopeless.

I have thought of him, of this moment in the grand scheme of things. Certainly it is no big thing.

I do not give money to all people who want it, hardly ever to the ones holding signs, occupying many of our city's street corners. I always think about it, but sometimes I can't stop my car. Sometimes I do a little bit of judging--sorry--and just decide not to. Like if the person is smoking, I think about how much cigarettes cost and think he might have spent whatever money he got on the food his sign says he needs.

Sometimes I just think you can't trust anyone. Seems quite heartless as I write it.

You have, no doubt, seen the people with their signs and their belongings on the ground beside them. The signs, they say many things, you know. Like, lost my job, or family of five, or have diabetes, or need help and God bless. And so on.

Seldom do we encounter, here in Boise, the direct and personal appeal of the man last Friday. I do not say a person should give money. We do have several shelters here in town where homeless people can stay and be fed. And I do not say a person should not give.

I am saying I gave the man a little money. That doesn't mean I'm a fool or a saint. It just means I did it.