A Little Help Please?

by Amy Issadore Bloom

I’m hoping to get my blogging game back on, if nothing else as a way to include writing as a more frequent habit in my life. A neighbor buddy encouraged me to write more about our ‘hood, and it certainly seems an ideal way to ease back into things. Goodness knows my parenting posts will just be full of rants about being sleep deprived or dealing with tantrums.

A Little Help Please?

There aren’t many homeless guys in our neighborhood. One is old and very sweet. He’s appreciative when I buy him a juice or coffee. Last time, as I came out of the store, he stood up from his milk crate, and joked, “I must be the slowest man in the world.” I had managed to hold the door open, and maneuver the stroller before he was able to come help.

He is somewhat of a fixture in the neighborhood, and I see all sorts of folks chatting with him. I’m sure he has a fascinating story.

There’s another guy who really irks me. It’s not that he’s a little drunk and slurs his requests, but rather that he never remembers me. Never.

Each time I walk by, he asks, “Can you help me out?” Then he looks up, sees me with the baby, and exclaims “God Bless! Congratulations!”

It was pretty great the first time, but the thing is, he says it every single time I see him. I mean, every time. I don’t expect him to remember me from week to week, or even day to day. But he greets me this way after I have run my errands and walk by him ten minutes later.

I think it would really behoove him to have a better memory. I might be inclined to “help out” more often. So, yesterday, after a year of biting my tongue – I finally replied, “I just saw you, man.”

It might have been a bit rude, but he won’t remember the next time he sees me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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