The Battle In My Head

Normally, I don't go that way home.  Normally, after my morning workout, I head down Thirty-Second Street to Main and drive through town which, though longer in distance, is not in the middle of road construction hell like Florida Road - a thoroughfare that has been torn up and limited to one-way traffic for thirteen months and a guaranteed mood killer if taken.

Instead, today I turned onto College Drive, an over-the-mountain-in-the-middle-of-town route, and spotted them immediately.  There, at the trolley stop, stood a young Hispanic (Latina?  I'm not sure what the politically correct term is) woman with FIVE young children waiting beside her.  She had a baby in her arms, a little boy under the age of two standing next to her, two girls somewhere between the ages of two and five, and a boy, the oldest, who looked about six.

"Oh, that looks hard," I thought.  It was twenty-five degrees according to the temperature gauge in my minivan and I continued to look at them through my rear-view mirror as I headed up the hill.  I imagined that she was warm enough due to the exertion from holding a squirming baby but wondered how cold those little ones might be.

"I should give her a ride.  I am driving a minivan that has enough seats for all of them.  Traveling with kids with your own car is hard enough.  Traveling with them while depending on public transportation has to be so much more tedious."

"She'll take the trolley!  That's obviously what she's waiting for.  I'd probably insult her if I offered her a ride...like some gringa sticking her nose into somebody else's business.  Of course, in a perfect world, I'd offer her a ride but in this day and age, it's better if she takes the trolley.  That's what it's there for."

"Stop! Am I supposed to give her a ride?  Was that a prompting?  Am I ignoring a prompting right now as I drive further and further away from this family who might need my help?"

"No.  Just keep going.  It's my blasted bleeding heart working on me, not a prompting.  She'll be fine without my help.  It may take her longer to get wherever she's going, but she'll get there just fine."

"Ack!  I'm almost a mile away now and I'm still thinking I was prompted to pick her up!  Why is this always so hard for me - the decision to act or not to act.  Sister Kimball said to never suppress a generous thought and I am seriously suppressing.  Turn around, Lucy!"

"What am I getting so upset about?  I am constantly suppressing generous thoughts.  My alter-ego could be named Generous Thought Suppressor!  What makes this time any different?  It's not like the world stops when I suppress these thoughts.  After all, I can't do everything for everyone."

"But I can do this for her right now."

"I can't believe I'm turning around.  I'm sure the trolley is there by now.  I'm just wasting my time driving back down the hill.  I should have either acted on my first impression or kept on driving but this indecisiveness is lame."

"She's still there.  Where is the trolley?  It's been well over five minutes and this little family is cold!  I'm so fortunate to have a car to get me where I need to go.  I'm going to offer them a ride.  They might say no.  At least I will have offered."

"She's looking at me strangely.  This might be totally insulting to her.  Just act like as if I'm lost or don't want to go through the road construction and turn around again."

"Roll down your window."

"Keep going."

She looked at me with a curious expression as I rolled down my window.  "Hi.  I'd be happy to give you a ride somewhere.  Would you like a ride?"

She hesitated for a moment, looked at her children, looked back at me and said, "Yes, please."

I opened the sliding door and one, two, three, four young children got in, confused, looking for a place to sit.  I gestured to get all the way in the back and offered to help buckle the two year-old in Henry's booster seat.  But, he was crying and she told him in Spanish to get in the back with the others.  She held the baby on her lap.

"I need to go to the little hospital," she said.

"The ASH?" I asked, wanting to make sure I took her to the right place.

"Yes."

And that was all we said.  Her children were fussy, probably stressed about this turn of events, and I made sure to follow every traffic law I could as we were breaking most of the other ones (little kids not in boosters. Little kids not in seat belts. Four to a seat.  Holding a baby on her lap.)  I wondered as we drove in silence if I was even doing the right thing.  They wouldn't have been breaking any laws on the trolley.

But, the two year-old was really upset and coughing.  I imagined he was probably sick and she was taking him to the doctor.  I listened as she reassured them in a language I don't understand or speak, but wish I did.  I put myself in her shoes, imagining myself in a country where I didn't speak the language fluently, trying to get somewhere on a bus with Henry on a rampage, and I actually teared up.  Being a mother is a challenge.  But, what she was doing was mother agony.

We arrived at the ASH, I pulled up to the front door and opened the sliding door with the push of a button.  She gathered all of the children out of the van and said, "Thank you.  We all go to the doctor today because I only have one day off."

I told her I understood and that was it.  They went inside.  The van door closed and I drove towards home.

"You probably got them to the doctor way before their appointment.  Now, she's going to have to sit in a waiting room with five children for a half hour."

"It's still better than standing outside in the cold and taking a trolley that stops every half mile.  At least there are toys in the waiting room.

"She still could have gotten there without you.  You didn't need to help."

"Probably.   But, I'm glad I did."

"Bleeding heart."

"Suppressor."

I hope the right side won today.