On a rainy evening last Tuesday I left an early supper with good friends to return home. After a long day handling dry legalities imposed by the recent death of my sister, I was tired. The sun was setting, yellow gray light warned of rain and drops pelted my shirt as I walked down the steep hill to the parking garage.
Near the bottom of the hill I noticed people ahead of me abruptly cross from my side of the street to the other. I followed suite. But as I continued my descent I became painfully aware of the reason for the change of course. A man in his wheelchair blocked passage as he held onto a light post. He struggled to keep his chair under him and not roll back. He was making no progress. In an act of self justification, I called to him asking the obvious. ‘Do you need help?’ He responded with a yes that reminded of a groan. So committed, I crossed over.
The guy had pushed himself one-third of the way up the incline. It was a valiant effort. I was amazed he had made it so far on his own. Exhausted by his efforts he held onto the street lamp. A bag of possessions slipped from his shoulder, his shirt torn and dirty. A tall thin dude, he sprawled across the sidewalk; he juggled for leverage but made no progress. He spoke, but I couldn’t catch his meaning between my poor hearing and his slurred speech. His lower lip seemed unhinged from his mouth as he talked.
The only way to get him up the hill was to turn his rolling chair around and pull it up. He kept showering words at me by way of explanation or thank you, as I tugged at the handle and he shuffled his feet. Too tall for the chair and unable to stand or walk, he sat and I backed our way awkwardly up to the corner of Gay Street.
The guy had a half broken umbrella but couldn’t use it and push himself up at the same time. He faced away from me as I inched my way up the hill.
I caught only the side of his face. I noticed his malformed lip. It looked like his lower lip was separated from his mouth, but I saw no sign of bleeding. I asked if he was ok and he pointed to the other corner so I wheeled him over to a flat surface on the sidewalk at the prescribed corner. Then wished him well and proceeded quickly down to the garage.
The rain kept threatening to unload and I had no umbrella. I wanted to get home. I realized on my drive home I was a bit self satisfied for going out of my way. But I had failed to ask his name. I didn’t look him in the eye. I made no attempt to know him. He was a good deed half done.
I wonder what I would have seen if I taken a moment to look at him and meet his eyes. What would his visage reveal ? What might I have learned if I had leaned into his impoverished humanity, if I had taken a minute longer to greet him person to person.
Performing good deeds is a fine way to celebrate humanity. But the performance can be only an act, a cold obligation to satisfy an ego.
It takes face to face encounters to make human connection. Unfortunately I missed a chance. In my hurry I failed to acknowledge him as a person. I left him alone only a little safer than I found him. Sadly, life moves too fast and we reduce interactions to transactions. We lose the sense of wonder in making connections, make little time to meet, and hold no space to be present with another human face.
What did I see between me and the person I didn’t see. I had power. I had control. He had little to done.
‘ Hello to the lenses (of power) through which I peer, seeing more of my self than I do of my subject’ Padraig O’Tauma points to our idea of others carried in our minds eye filtering our understanding of the people we chance to meet.
THH
5/16/25
Thoughts Have Hands 