Perhaps it is all in the delivery of that line. "I am rich. I have won the lottery," said quietly with a little smile. Perhaps it is simply the fact that my modest lifestyle does not reflect their expectations of how a "rich person" would live. In any event, my friends are both right and wrong about me. (As usual.)
I did not get one of those special pieces of paper with a combination of lucky numbers that results in a boat load of cash. But I did win one of life's lotteries.
I am, as they say, "Free, white, and over 21." This occurred with no great effort on my part. Moreover, I am, from birth, a citizen of the United States, and thus I have received countless blessings over the years which while taken for granted here in the USA would not be available in many other parts of the world. In addition to the good fortune of the geography of my birth, I won a genetic lottery which has blessed me with good health and a reasonable amount of intelligence.
Because I am "Free, white, and over 21," and a citizen of the United States, and in good health with a reasonable amount of intelligence, I was able to receive an education which led me to be able to obtain jobs which pay for all the necessary things in life and even leave me a little money for a few extra luxuries.
One of the luxuries in my life is a dog named, "Sunny." (a.k.a Sunny Daze, a.k.a Sunny the Sanity Dog.)
Sunny is a Labrador mix from the Almost Home Humane Society. He has been my companion for almost a year now. I buy him food. I take him to the vet for vaccinations. I give him pills to prevent him from getting fleas and parasites. And I buy him toys to play with.Sunny loves to play. He brings me toys to toss for him to chase. He brings me ropes to tug with him. Sunny is a happy dog, and he brings me joy.
Most of the time, Sunny is a good dog. Most of the time he knows what toys are his, and what things are not his to play with.
Friday evening, Sunny chewed a hole in his Squeeky Piggy. These things happen. Toys get played with for a few months, then they get damaged. I had to take Squeeky Piggy away from Sunny to keep him from eating little pieces of material that was not really intended to be consumed. (Tough Love.)
Although, I usually go to mass at 9:00 am on Sunday mornings, I went to Saturday evening mass this weekend because I had agreed to sit at an information table for our women's retreat before and after this mass. So I was enjoying a very relaxed Sunday morning when Sunny trotted out into the living room with an unmentionable item from my laundry basket. I spanked Sunny and took it away. But I decided it was time to find the doggie toy isle at the store when I went to get my supplies for the coming week. (I get my groceries at one of those mega-stores where you can get just about anything. "One stop shopping," they call it.)
I usually make my purchases with a debit card, so I rarely have much cash on me. I needed to run by the ATM to get some cash since I was down to pocket change and I wanted to take some commissary money to the jail for my son when I visited him later in the day. I decided to go to the ATM before getting my groceries instead of going there on my way home.
So then, there I was, in the doggie toy isle. I had a bone and a knotted rope in my basket. I was squeezing the squeeky toys to try to decide which ones would be most pleasing to my dog. A man came up next to me with a little girl in his shopping cart. Slightly embarrassed to be seen playing with the dog toys, I put the squeeky monkey back on the shelf.
I smiled shyly at the man, and with greater enthusiasm at the little girl with big dark eyes and curly dark hair. She was probably about 3 years old.
In a soft voice, the man mumbled something which sounded apologetic. "He has a question," I thought to myself. I looked away from the little girl toward her father. He handed me a piece of paper.
Someone had printed a message in pencil. I began reading it out loud. "I have four children and no job..." the note began. My voice went silent as I scanned the rest of the note.
He was asking for $20 to buy shoes for his daughter. He pointed to the shoes his daughter held in her lap. They had picked these shoes up in the store... hoping someone would help pay for them. The little girl had only socks on her feet. There was nothing else in the shopping cart.
I pulled out my wallet and found a $20 bill. I handed it to the man. "Bless you! Bless you!" he said in heavily accented English.
"You have nice shoes," I said to the little girl. And I walked away.
My emotions were in turmoil. Tears came to my eyes.
There was sadness. Memories of poverty. Memories of swallowed pride.
There was uneasiness. I have known too many people who would not be above using a cute little child to hustle money that would definitely not be spent on shoes.
There was uncertainty. My God! He has four children and no job! Maybe I should have given him more?
Without a doubt, today, I was tested. I cannot know for certain what kind of man I gave that money to. I did not check the price on those shoes. I cannot know how that $20 was spent.
But my soul is the only thing that truly belongs to me. Better to err on the side of kindness and mercy, I think.
