That person asking for change on the street corner has been a source of frustration for me for ages. Here’s the kicker: every time I see them, I’m reminded of my own hypocrisy, and worse yet, I realize I might be passing that same hypocrisy onto my kids.
Now, it’s not like I’m intentionally being hypocritical. Who would? I genuinely want to be generous with my time, emotions, and finances. But when I choose to look the other way instead of helping someone who’s clearly struggling, does my intention even matter? Sure, some may be scammers (let’s be real, that’s a possibility), but most people wouldn’t resort to begging if they had better options.
A few years back, while my kids and I were exploring downtown—a rare outing for us—my daughter, then five, exclaimed, “Mommy, is that Santa?” Her excitement was palpable. I turned to see what she was looking at. It was summer, so I was skeptical, but hey, stranger things happen, especially during comic con.
The man she mistook for Santa had a scruffy white beard, but that’s where the similarities ended. He was tall and thin, not the jolly, round figure we expect. He carried a worn-out sign asking for assistance. I closed my eyes for a beat, mentally blocked him out, and quickly turned away from “Santa.”
My daughter kept peppering me with questions. “What does his sign say?” “Can we help him?” “Why are you pulling me?” Kids really know how to hit you where it hurts, don’t they? Yet, I managed to maintain my composure and hurried my little ones past the man.
My son, sensing my discomfort, surprisingly didn’t protest. I promised myself I would discuss the situation with my kids later. But as we walked to the car, I struggled to figure out what to say. After running through various options, I threw my hands up in defeat. What do five- and seven-year-olds need to know about homelessness? I had absolutely no clue.
So, I said nothing and hoped they wouldn’t mention it again. We drove home, tuning into our favorite They Might Be Giants album as if nothing had happened, even stopping at Starbucks to lift our spirits. Because ignoring someone else’s hardships can feel as simple as indulging in a cake pop, right?
While I like to think of myself as a giving person (and I do give to some extent), reality hits hard. There’s only so much I can donate before my husband and I hit a stalemate—he believes street panhandlers are part of an elaborate scam. And let’s be honest, I enjoy my comfortable life. I feel guilty about it, but when faced with the choice between charity and my own interests, I’ve often chosen the latter.
Every holiday season, my family participates in a few heartwarming activities that give us a sense of purpose. We sponsor children at a nearby school, buying them gifts and clothes from their wish lists. We also support a child living in a Kenyan orphanage.
However, I’ve come to realize that when it comes to being charitable—beyond just monetary donations—to those who are poor, homeless, or struggling, I often just drive or walk past them. It’s as if I’ve become emotionally numb. I want to contribute but somehow don’t.
With around 550,000 homeless individuals counted in the United States as of January 2016, I can no longer turn a blind eye. It’s time to take action. The next time I come across someone asking for help, I plan to give them a couple of bucks, wish them happy holidays, and stop showing my kids that conditional charity is acceptable.
In closing, I recognize the importance of stepping out of my comfort zone and embracing generosity during the holiday season, both for my sake and for my children’s.