Deciding to be a hero more complicated in reality
In My View...
Cheryl Johnson |
IN LAST WEEK’S Collegian, Tim Ellison wrote an enjoyable read titled, “Unlikely chances for acts of heroism.”
He talked about saving a poor little tree frog from certain death and followed with a suggestion that perhaps we can all be heroes in some small way.
Similar to Mr. Ellison’s experience, I once rescued a toad from being run over at my place of employment.
It was a dark and stormy night and as I was driving out of the complex I noticed a toad sitting in the path of my vehicle.
So, being the hero that I am, I stopped my car so no one behind me would drive over the poor creature.
Then I began waving down oncoming traffic.
The drivers obviously thought I had lost my mind, but that didn’t matter. I nudged the cold toad with my foot and that was all it took to get it to cross the great divide and reach safety in the fields beyond.
What is the point? Well, as far as I know, Ellison’s tree frog and my toad went on to live the good life because of our small acts of heroism.
But there have been opportunities when I could have been a hero, but wasn’t.
One particular memory haunts me. Years ago I was living in a “bad” part of Sacramento and was pretty much broke.
A lot of the people were in worse situations than mine, so it often seemed like there were beggars everywhere I went. I often gave them something — usually change from my pocket.
But this particular day I had been approached by three different people on the way from my car to the grocery store.
Therefore, I had little compassion left when I saw a young woman sitting in front of the store, holding a baby.
There were sores on its face and it obviously needed a bath. It appeared to be about 8 months old. I noticed how quietly it sat in its mother’s lap.
I’ll never forget the expression on its face. It had the oldest gaze I’ve ever seen in a baby.
So I read the sign. “Help Please, Need Diapers.” Well, how could I ignore it? I went into a grocery store to buy diapers.
Then realized I didn’t know the size and they were expensive. So I left without them, deciding to give the woman one of my precious $5 bills instead.
She began to cry and thanked me over and over. Her reaction stunned me. I watched as she got into a car with two men.
She seemed to know them. I wondered if they set her up to beg for money, which they would later take from her.
Or were they going to pay her for sex? Or pimp her out for sex? And the unthinkable: were they going to harm the baby?
I’ve often wondered if I could have done more. Should I have offered to take her to a shelter?
Should I have taken her in? But wouldn’t that have possibly put my daughter and I at risk?
Even if she was completely trustworthy, were her friends?
I’ll never know. Nor will I ever know what happened to that baby. I wish I had been a hero that day.
But I believe the point Mr. Ellison made is that we can act as heroes in small ways. It might be as simple as saving a little tree frog, or as great as saving a woman and baby from a miserable life.
In terms of good deeds, they really aren’t so far apart, are they?
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