Rolling By

It’s a sad reality when one can’t help another for fear that they may get hurt by those they are trying to help. This is the reality my son wrestled with last night while driving home from the community college. It was dark, and the road was near void of traffic, yet he could make out the image of a man and woman, and what he thought looked like a baby. The man was waving for my son to stop, but as my son took his foot off the accelerator, a thought swept through his mind – what if this is just a ploy? Unsure, he rolled by, and did so with a heavy heart.

I told him he did the right thing, and as his mother, I feel the advice I gave was sound. My son is a new driver, young, not the bulkiest of kids and doesn’t carry any means to defend himself. But as he shared the troubling story, I could see the guilt blanketing his mind. The what if questions, to which there aren’t any answers. Every morning we as a society, numbly watch the local news filled with headlines of slayings and thefts, even those done in small towns peppering the state. As my son slowly approached  the young family last night, as he contemplated bringing our Jeep to a stop, he knew he would be venturing into an unforeseeable outcome. On the one hand, he may have been able to hand over his phone, thereby aiding this family. Or, on the other hand, he could have become one of the disturbing, and hard to fathom, headlines stated expressionlessly by the newscasters on the morning news.

I live in what most would consider a very safe neck of the woods. And yet, if you remember, I had thugs steal from my property in the middle of the day, my home has been broken into, and there was a murder just down the road two summers ago.

Depending on how the situation looked, I may have stopped last night. But I would have done so, with locked doors and a foot primed to run over the helpless quickly turned predator standing outside. We don’t have a crystal ball. All we have is our imagination and history to paint the possibilities of the future. And whereas history use to paint a very pleasant picture, now it paints one filled with images that not only reinforce the need to lock one's doors at night, but also reinforce the fact that my son did the right thing when he kept his tires rolling. Nothing about that picture feels right to me. It surely doesn’t represent who I am, or how I would react if given the choice. I’m the one who plunges knee deep into the snow drift to help unearth someone’s car. When a weary mom drops her baby’s bottle in the parking lot and watches with tired eyes as it rolls under a parked car, I am soon on my stomach shimmying across the pavement in hopes of snatching the bottle before it gets any further out of reach. So driving by those who appear in need - feels wrong - and yet, in today’s world it is the response I’m often forced to take, especially at night.

Maybe my father was right, if we all had a revolver hanging from our hip - the world would be a safer place. Not because we’d all shoot one another; but because nefarious thugs would think twice before harming those who would otherwise come to their aide. So as I said my goodnights to my son, I told him to try not to feel bad, there were plenty of houses nearby wherein the people could easily walk. And yet, he did feel bad, as do I.

Sane