But For Whom?

I was about to back the car into the driveway last night, when a man on the sidewalk raised his hand and beckoned to me. I stopped and looked at him and as he approached the car, I lowered the window.

"Yes?" I said.

"Yeah, I'm trying to get to Woodbridge. My brother took the van and it has my stuff in it. You know my wallet and ...."

He was still talking, Ms J, but I was no longer listening. Instead, I was observing this poor creature, this dirty, sweaty, desperate creature. I felt certain his story was a pack of lies intended to arouse my compassion, but he was so close to me and so filthy, I just wanted to be rid of him. I reached into a dashboard compartment and extracted two five dollar bills.

"Here," I said and thrust the money at him.

He took it hungrily and I felt his grimy fingers on my hand.

"Thanks, man," he said. "God bless you."

I was repulsed, Ms J, but I managed a feeble "You're welcome. Good luck."

As I watched him hurry away, I considered following him to see where he went with the alms I'd given. I imagined he'd head for the nearest pub.

I'm an introspective man at times. I ask a lot of questions of myself. Why did I behave a certain way? Why did I make that particular choice? What have I gained? What have I lost? Have I made a positive change in myself? In someone else?

That poor soul was glad of the money I gave him. That much was clear. But for whom did I give it? Was it a gift given in the spirit of generosity or was it one of selfishness? Did I truly help that man, Ms J, or did I only help myself?

***