Annabelle and Homeless People

I see homeless people every day when I walk to work. When they ask for money, I either look down, pretend I'm listening to my expensive headphones, or mutter an inaudible "sorry" under my breath.

I never give them money -- not even a dollar or a quarter or a dime. Not even at Christmas.

Like most people, maybe even you, I feel awful for these people, but I never do anything about it. And lately, because of Annabelle, I'm wondering if this makes me a bad person.

Someday soon, Annabelle, now with some sense of the world, will walk down the street with me in Cambridge or Boston. We'll hold hands as we stroll down the brick-covered sidewalks and she'll ask me all sorts of questions: Why aren't those cars stopping?Where did that snow come from? Why do people eat food outside? Undoubtedly, as she walks past scattered homeless people in the city, she'll ask questions about them, too: Where does that man live? What do you mean he doesn't have a home? Should we help him? 

Annabelle will ask thousands of questions in her first few years of life, and I look forward to almost all of them. But this predictable line of questioning about homeless people gnaws at me for some reason. Maybe because it's so innocent. Maybe because it's so hopeful. Or maybe because I don't know how I should handle it.

Do I teach her about good and bad decisions? About the crippling effects of drugs and alcohol? About bad luck? Do I just teach her how to look away or how to mutter an inaudible "sorry" under her breath?

I didn't see many homeless people when I was little. In fact, I don't remember seeing any. Everyone lived inside in my small town. (At least I think they did.) If there were any homeless people, I can't imagine they had much luck panhandling. Millbury, Massachusetts, isn't really known as a bustling metropolis.

But now I work in a city and I live near one. And so does my daughter. This, I think, is a very good thing. I want Annabelle to be cultured, open-minded, and aware of how lucky she is to have a home and clothes and food. I want her to get to know people who aren't like her. I want her to see homeless people.

That, of course, will then require me to answer the aforementioned string of questions. I will have to say, "He's homeless because ..." And, I'll probably say, "We should help her, but ..."

Unless something changes between now and then. Unless, this week, as I pass the guy with the sign that says, "I bet you a dollar that you read this," or the guy with the grossly swollen cheek near Starbucks, I do something different. Unless I picture Annabelle looking up at me hopefully with her hopeful hazel eyes and hand over the change in my pocket ...

Do our children make us better people? Should we always pretend Annabelle (or someone wonderfully innocent) is always walking by our side? Would we ever lie or cheat or steal? What decisions would we make?

Or more to the point this post, who would we help?

The Best 10 Minutes of Every Day

Like most people, I look forward to a few things every day. An invigorating morning workout. A refreshing drink at Starbucks. A kiss from Bridget before she and Belle head out for the day. These things are part of my daily routine, but I do a pretty good job of not taking them for granted. I try my best to stop and realize how lucky I am to experience these fantastic moments and minutes.

This week, I added something to the list, something that, with apologies to Bridget about the scintillating kiss, may darn well be the best part of every day. What, you might wonder, could possibly be better than those tender, rosy lips? Reading to my daughter.

We've read to Belle since the day she was born. In fact, like most parents who do too much research, we read to her when she was still in the womb. (I'm sure we'll point to those moments when she gets an "A" on her first book report.) But Belle, mostly, hasn't really been so into it. In the first six months of her life, she would either cry, fall asleep, or look off in other directions when we tried to share a book with her. And as she's entered the crawling phase in the last couple months, trying to get her to sit still for five minutes is like asking a hungry Oscar to savor each bite of his kibble.

But this week, something changed. All of a sudden, Belle, just before bed, has decided she loves to sit on my lap while I read her two or three books. It's become a habit, a ritual, and it makes me feel like the luckiest guy in the world. More than that, the whole experience, which lasts from about 6:30-6:40 every night, makes me feel like I'm in a Norman Rockwell painting.

We sit in an old rocking chair in the corner of her room. The soft glow of the lamp in the corner gives off just enough light. A cool evening breeze blows in from the street where older kids are yelling and playing. We open one of her favorites, On the Night You Were Born:

On the night you were born, the moon shone with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, "Life will never be the same ..." 

Belle, sucking away at her pacifier, looks down at the pages and reaches out with her hands. She touches the pictures. I continue and she starts to rub her eyes. Then, we change up the pace and open something a bit lighter, like the literary masterpiece, Yummy, Yucky:

Blueberries are yummy. Blue crayons are yucky. Soup is yummy. Soap is yucky. Ice cream is yummy. Too much ice cream is yucky.

Belle helps turn the pages and occasionally looks up at me while I change my voice depending on whether something is indeed yummy or yucky. Then she yawns and I know it's about that time. We open the final book, Goodnight Moon:

In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon ...

Belle starts to cry a bit and I know my 10 minutes are nearly over. We get as far as we can and then I kiss her for the last time and put her down in her crib. With any luck, she's fast asleep five minutes later. Meanwhile, I leave the room and think about what she and I will read the next night.

And I wonder, as I get on with my evening by cooking dinner and getting ready for another day at work, if she likes the experience even half as much as I do ...