Dan and I took the Leatherkids to last Saturday's White Sox-Blue Jays game. Cal's a big Josh Donaldson fan (for the MLB uninformed, he's the Blue Jays' third baseman and last year's AL MVP) and an even bigger White Sox fan. Throw in that the giveaway for that game was a White Sox beach towel, we couldn't not go. That it was sunny and 90 degrees was a bonus... well, the sunny part of that equation was. 90 degrees is a little too hot for mine and, I learned through her whining, Ella's likings. And that the White Sox hit 7 home runs and still lost made for an interesting game.
But that's not what this post is about.
Dan and Cal had somehow gotten far ahead of us as we walked from our parked car to the ballpark on Saturday. I think it's funny I say somehow as I know exactly how. They were on a mission to just get to the ballpark. Ella and I, not so much. We ran into the peanut guy and had to buy a bag. And Ella's got little legs and doesn't cover a lot of ground giving the same effort to walking that the rest of us do. In other words, we were just slow. I don't really know how Dan felt about this, but I know I didn't care. It gave us an opportunity to talk.
So, as we walked, we were given unsolicited directions for actually getting to the park. Instead of parking in one of the formal Comiskey Park lots, we parked in a nearby church lot; and the path to the park wasn't exactly clear. I mean, it was virtually on top of us; but the getting there required a jaunt down an alleyway next to a building and around some small trees. Figurouttable, yes; but we accepted the directions nonetheless with a polite, "thank you."
Our thank you had barely reached the gentleman's ears, and he was pulling out an id that identified him as belonging to a homeless shelter. I couldn't tell that by looking at the id and only know this because he explained it as he pulled it out of his pocket. Once that introduction was complete, he asked if we could help him out.
Nuts. I lived in the City for a good 15+ years; and over the course of those years, I hardened a bit. I knew what he meant by "help out," and I politely told him as I shook my head slightly from side to side, "I'm sorry" and continued walking with Ella. Right or wrong response, I don't know and really do struggle with; but that was my answer.
We had only walked a few steps from this man when Ella started asking questions. "Who is he?" "What did he want?" I explained to her that he was a homeless man who wanted to know if we could help him out and then proceeded to explain what it meant to be homeless.
"He can live with us," Ella responded once I was done.
"That's nice, Ellie. Where would he stay?" I asked.
"We have a room in our basement," she told me. We do. It's where our guests sleep when we have them.
"We do, don't we?" I replied.
I don't remember exactly how the conversation went from there, but Ella basically verbalized all the thoughts going on in her head around letting this guy live in our basement... with his friends... for a long time. So sweet.
We eventually made it to the ballpark where we found Dan and Cal waiting for us near the gate. We entered, each grabbed our giveaway and slowly made our way up the ramp to the level where our seats were.
After the game, as we retraced our steps back to the car, I was, again, walking with Ella. Being in the same spot where we had talked about the homeless man staying with us, I was naturally reminded of the conversation we had had before the game. And then I thought about how wonderful it is that her natural inclination was to help this man -- this complete stranger -- out. Still so young, she is not tainted by negative experiences or horrible news stories or even judgmental commentary in everyday conversations with people to have any reaction other than the one she had. Her mind is so pure, so naive and so innocent and her heart so warm, probably not too unlike many other kids her age.
Having recognized that, I thought about the influence that I, her mother, can have on her. I know it's unrealistic and probably little dangerous to strive for her to maintain that same level of considerate, kind-heartedness as she gets older; but I do like the inclination and will do whatever I can to encourage that with an appropriate level of skepticism to keep her safe.
And then I wondered (not for long as I found this very uncomfortable and disturbing), what if she were Donald Trump's daughter with that same inclination at the same age? She'd certainly be taken on a different, incredibly selfish and judgmental path where her reactions would not be so kind-hearted. And it wouldn't necessarily be her own doing, really.
I don't know. At that moment, walking down the path where we had encountered a homeless man hours before, it just struck me as powerful and a bit scary the influence that we have as parents to mold our kids into people who naturally think the way we want them to think. Ella can probably go any number of directions right now, and I'm going to do what I can to keep her where she naturally finds herself right now.
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