So this just happened:
While walking the dogs in the neighborhood, I had to cross
the street right before getting back in our house because a woman from down the block had let
her dogs off the leash for their walk. Precious isn't so good with other dogs, and I was not in the mood to get between a big ass German Shepard and my Pughuahua, so I
crossed the street. Right as I got to the other side of Springfield, I heard a guy
talking to a little girl asking where she lived and trying to get her to calm
down. So the dad in me immediately
perked up. I walked over and found out
that the little girl had come out of her "garden" apartment looking
for her mom. She had thought maybe mom
was just getting some air, but when she didn’t find her she started to panic,
and the door shut behind her—even though her little Chihuahua, Oreo came with her--obviously to be a good guard dog--they ended up both getting locked out. So this young guy on a low-rider, chromed out
bicycle and I started talking with her, trying to keep her calm. Poor thing was in just a tank-top and her
chonies and obviously had been crying.
After running across the street to get my dogs our house
and grab a blanket to keep the little girl warm, I came back out to find her
throwing up and the other guy not sure what to do. Having been to this rodeo
before, I just kept her hair out of the way and rubbed her back. We tried to get some information by asking her some basic questions: her name, her
age (4), who she lived with (mom and dad), what they did, where they
worked, if she knew any of her neighbors (no) and other questions to try and get something useful. . She tried to tell me her dad’s
phone number but could only remember 5 numbers,
We agonized
about getting the police involved, the 17th District station is just ½ a
block down Leland on Pulaski, maybe mom was running to CVS or Walgreens to get
medicine for the little girl, we didn’t want to call the cops and then make
trouble for this family (and maybe get the little girl in trouble with her
family, you never know). When we said
the police though, the little girl started freaking out again, totally not what
we wanted. So we backed off, I showed
her pictures of the girls, explained I lived in the brick house on the
corner, just making conversation to calm her down. The little girl then said her
dad worked at Home Depot at night and maybe we could call him. Just as we were going to try and call the two
closest Home Depots, mom pulled up. She
had indeed driven the car over to a not so close Walgreens for medicine (because
the one on Pulaski and Lawrence didn’t take her insurance). She was frantic and apologetic. Luckily this story had a happy ending.
I share this story not to show I’m a great guy or that there
are other Good Samaritan’s in Chicago or Albany Park—every city is filled with
good people, particularly in mixed-income neighborhoods like mine. Nor am I trying to paint this mom as
irresponsible. But it was clear to me (maybe from being a Sociologist, maybe
from just being observant of details), this woman had gotten home from
work not long before, and we knew from her daughter that her husband was
working overnight at the nearby Home Depot.
Her daughter was sick, and tired, and needed medicine. She made the choice to roll the dice, and
leave her kid in her apartment, probably with instructions to “stay here and
wait for mommy.” This time it went a bit
sideways, probably other times it had been ok.
And all this just brought in to focus how lucky Doris and I
are, and why we moved back to Chicago.
Danny stays with us, and on nights that he’s not working (or working
out), he’s someone who is around for the girls.
And my in-laws are 5 minutes away. My folks are 15. And we have
friends and family, dozens of folks really, all within 20 minutes. AND Gaby is so mature, and composed, and
mother hen-ish, I know we can (and have) stepped out to the store or CVS or the
Admiral (just kidding!) and left her in charge.
And in Merced, we had not just amazing friends that we could lean on (all within 15 minutes),
but also GREAT neighbors who we could have knocked on their door at night for a
favor if we needed it. But not everyone has
that extended family, or knows their neighbors, or can afford to go to
sitters.com to make sure someone is always with their kid.
So if you have kids, go sneak into their room and give them
an extra kiss goodnight (I already have), and if you can, remember to be aware
of your surroundings, and try to be a person for others—especially those who most
vulnerable and helpless—when you see something out of the ordinary.
