A Knock on the Door
"Can my mom come over and use your phone?" said the girl standing at my front door, a little over two months ago. She looked to be about ten years old, and had just moved into the house behind ours with her mom and three siblings. Wanting to be a good neighbor, I said "Sure! You can use our phone. No problem." So over they came, Yolanda and the rest of her children.
As they sat on our couch, Lauren offered them granola bars, which they gladly accepted. They were obviously poor. The kids had an unkempt look about them, but were in good spirits. Yolanda finished with the phone. "Would you mind giving us a ride?" she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.
So I drove them across town, to her sister's place, where we picked up her nephew. I didn't ask why he needed to be picked up, but I assumed there was a good reason. As we sat in the car and waited for the nephew to emerge, I found out that Yolanda and her kids had just moved down from Ames, and that it had been a rather hurried affair. They didn't bring much along with them. I didn't want to pry too much. All the kids were back in the car now, four of them crammed in the back seat. I pulled back onto the street, looking forward to eating my supper. "Can we stop at the grocery store on the way home?" Apparently the nephew was hungry.
At this point, I was feeling just a little bit put-out. I'm all for being helpful, but stopping at the grocery store? Since we would pass a gas station on the way home, I told them we could stop there. "Stay in the car", the mother said sternly to the youngest two. A couple minutes later they followed her in to use the bathroom. I sat impatiently in the car.
They returned five minutes later, snacks in tow. The nephew had a carton of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. As they trudged back to their place after I dropped them off, I couldn't help but wonder why they would buy expensive gas station food when they couldn't afford a car. But I guess you can't buy a car with food stamps either.
(to be continued…)
As they sat on our couch, Lauren offered them granola bars, which they gladly accepted. They were obviously poor. The kids had an unkempt look about them, but were in good spirits. Yolanda finished with the phone. "Would you mind giving us a ride?" she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.
So I drove them across town, to her sister's place, where we picked up her nephew. I didn't ask why he needed to be picked up, but I assumed there was a good reason. As we sat in the car and waited for the nephew to emerge, I found out that Yolanda and her kids had just moved down from Ames, and that it had been a rather hurried affair. They didn't bring much along with them. I didn't want to pry too much. All the kids were back in the car now, four of them crammed in the back seat. I pulled back onto the street, looking forward to eating my supper. "Can we stop at the grocery store on the way home?" Apparently the nephew was hungry.
At this point, I was feeling just a little bit put-out. I'm all for being helpful, but stopping at the grocery store? Since we would pass a gas station on the way home, I told them we could stop there. "Stay in the car", the mother said sternly to the youngest two. A couple minutes later they followed her in to use the bathroom. I sat impatiently in the car.
They returned five minutes later, snacks in tow. The nephew had a carton of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. As they trudged back to their place after I dropped them off, I couldn't help but wonder why they would buy expensive gas station food when they couldn't afford a car. But I guess you can't buy a car with food stamps either.
(to be continued…)
posted by Alan at 1:21 PM
2 Comments:
You can't leave us hanging. Post the rest of the story!:)
Sorry about the late post, but stumbled across your blog and am enjoying reading it. One thing, though. You write that you chose to stop at a gas station instead of a grocery store, then wondered why the family would buy food there. My first thought was, because it was where they were and they were hungry.
I will continue to read this story, as I may just be reacting to a single line and missing the bigger point. (Only human here, of course.)
John
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