Zen and the art of Liberalism

It is not easy being a liberal.

Once I listened to an episode of the Prairie Home Companion, I know, a distinctly liberal thing to do, and Garrison Keillor had an interesting thought.  He announced at the beginning of the show he was going to become a Republican.  After doing so, he commented how easy life was.  His emotional guilt was gone.  He didn't have to worry about the environment or about charity.  He didn't have to consider other people, only worry about himself.  Yes sir, for Garrison Keillor, life was sweet.  There are times I wonder what it would be like to follow in his path.  I think I would sleep so well at night, my mind would be clear and my focus would be my own.

It is funny how when we cross paths with a homeless person in our own world we are often oblivious.  If they are an everyday sight, they become invisible and often a nuisance.  When at work I often leave through a back door to avoid the out stretched hands.  I have never given to them choosing instead to observe the "don't give to panhandlers" sign  posted on a light post.  All the while,  I wonder if my copious deposits of used clothing, shoes and other household effects is sufficient to placate my conscious.

A week ago I was in Atlanta, Georgia on business.  I took along my family so that they could enjoy the sites and a free hotel room while I dutifully reported to my meetings.  For some reason when you are in a new environment the homeless become visible and act as a commentary about the city where they reside.  They escape from the shadows and stand in contrast to the urban landscape.  Some make you wrinkle your noise with a whiff of their bodies.  Others track you  like hunters following their prey.  The signs are obvious, too much looking around, wife and son in tow.  How could a man resist?  He couldn't.  Not without that damn liberal guilt consuming me.  Of course, while an inviting the attention of the needy I am also quite realistic in my ability to give.  My adventures however led me to one particular man that gazed at me from across a plaza and then walked toward me.  "Sir," he asked. "do you have thirty-three cents."  Never have I been asked for such a modest amount.  How could I say no?  I reached in my pocket and gave him nearly 3 times that amount.  It was generosity at its best.  Who in their right mind attempting a scam asks for thirty-three cents?  Of course his brilliance probably far surpassed my own humble mind.  In truth, maybe he had found the line of the century.

A few blocks later I was again hit up.  No doubt the man had observed my generosity only moments before and wanted a taste of it himself.  He was much more well dressed and had a well rehearsed story about a family, no job, a hotel, blady blah...  I knew it was a tall tale but he worked so hard.  He was seeking the big coin, twenty-five even fifty dollars!  I reached in my pocket, separated out a ten dollar bill and gave him two bucks.  It was as if a hot air balloon had suddenly been deflated.  His smile turned toward confusion as he murmured "God Bless."

Giving is a difficult thing.  We all know we should do it, we just don't know how.  The truth is there is no answer.  Everyone must walk their own path but how the process does torment that liberal guilt.

On a side note, there are times when even the visible become invisible again.  After dinner one night my son had half a sand which left.  He asked if it would be okay to give it to a homeless person and I told him they would most certainly be grateful.  So we walked for blocks upon blocks in search of someone looking for a meal.  Perhaps it was the setting sun or more likely, dinner time at a nearby shelter but not a soul was to be found.  Finally in desperation, my son wrote a message proclaiming the contents of the box and placed it on the top of a garbage can.  Perhaps it was found, most likely it wasn't.  At least the sentiment was there.

Mark my words, if I am every approached by the thirty-three cent man again, I will give him a dollar.