Responsibility

We are lucky enough to live within a short drive of a number of nice grocery stores. Some are high end and sell things that make for a fancy dinner party. Some carry the basics (in my neck of the woods, that's everything processed that you could ever possibly want and more - all with lots of preservatives and plenty of sugar for good measure). You shop with people of different cultures and from different income brackets.

I love the stores where different languages are flying around me - mothers speaking Indian to their kids - it always sounds like they're being chastised, but they're always giggling - a couple from Australia with thick accents debating the relative merits of different brands of cream cheese. A guy who is struggling with his basket and trying to make sense of a label on the Tillamook Cheese ("It's the most wonderful cheese you will ever try. Spend a little more and get the Medium White Cheddar," I told him. He did with a smile and thanked me in broken English with a heavy Russian accent.)

And then then there are those that I could do without. The people that run you down without a second glance and look at you, annoyed, when you squeal as they run over your foot, the cranky mother of too many that swats her toddler on the rear end for no good reason other than her own impatience. But worst of all at the moment - the sick people.

We've had a horrible season of flu in my city. City offices have been shut down due to influenza. You actually see people walking around with masks on to keep from spreading germs. Because, after all, we are all so important that we can't stay home for two days to recover and protect the rest of the world from our illness.

At the store yesterday, I was on a mission. I hate to shop on Saturday, know my patience level is low and that I'd better get it over with fast or someone will get my evil stare of death. It might be for blocking the entire aisle with a sideways cart while they taste bad wine being sampled, it might be the two people busily chatting about last nights stellar 4th grade softball bonanza. MOVE IT. I'm on a mission.

But I was doing well. Moving quickly through the isles, I had my list in chronological order (not because I'm super organized but because I hate to shop on the best of days and figured I'd be kind and get the heck outta there before someone gets hurt).

Then I saw her. A young mother, cart full of 1-6 year olds. The kids were climbing crazily around the cart and someone was just bound to fall out. But I ignored, as I've trained myself to do. Her problem - not mine.

She obviously was sick - red eyed, runny nose, cough, moving slowly. She was standing next to the freshly baked bread and baguettes that are sold in open ended paper bags. I've been sick and alone with hungry children, felt a little sorry for her at this point. It's hard to deal with an unruly passel of little ones in the best of moods, on the best of days, full of energy and extra Starbucks.

Until I saw what she was doing. She'd wipe her nose with the back of her hand then start squeezing all the loaves to see which one was freshest, crustiest - I don't know. BUT EEWWW!

I grabbed a nearby clerk and told him what she was doing. He watched in horror as she sneezed on half the product sitting there. Then picked up a loaf and walked off.

I decided to purchase my bread elsewhere for obvious reason. Who knows what she had touched before that.

He, of course, immediately removed all the bread from the shelf that seemed to have been affected. He apologized to me (like it was his fault she was a jerk) and threw every loaf in the trash. And even though I'm sure she didn't think about what she was doing, I had to realize the awful truth. This is the mother that is teaching her children how to get along in the world. Instead of "cover your mouth when you cough, sneeze into your sleeve, wash your hands when you're sick, never touch other people's food..." she's out there spreading who knows what to who knows who while they watch her.

My children watch me. They LOVE to point out the many mistakes I make in a day. Part of the fun of having teenagers is that now, every time I break a rule I've hammered into their heads, they're giddy to be the morality police. And I'm glad they're that way - they actually learned some stuff from me.

They learned that we are all responsible for ourselves. But more than that, we are responsible for what we do to others - intentional or otherwise.

I reject the thought that I am only responsible for me. I am also responsible for the street people that live in my park (who know, in the past three months, where to get a PB&J if they're really hungry. I will not give them booze or money, but I will feed them - even if it's my last slice of bread.) I'm responsible for the children that play on my playground unattended - I keep a guarded eye on them when the strange men come and sit on picnic tables and smoke their cigarettes. I make sure they're not alone and if they are, I swing with them, teeter-totter with them. The guys at the top of the offramp with the sign about being hungry? They get a sandwich too - and a baggie of dog food for their well-behaved pit bull. It's always a pit bull and I have a soft spot for the mutts.

It's up to us. Making a difference in the world is as simple as washing your hands when you're sick, using common sense, and doing what's best for those around you by not exposing them to your cold. And maybe the occasional PB&J for a hungry stranger.