I'd been looking for an opportunity to bring some element of charity in my children's lives for a while. I wanted to show them how privileged we are in our little suburban enclave, so they could really appreciate it. After our dinner in New York City, we often would give our leftovers to homeless people or put some spare change in their cups, but these acts didn't seem to be significant enough. I wanted to find something more direct and less spontaneous that would have a greater part in our lives.
I thought I found the perfect solution when I joined the social services committee of the Junior Women's Club. I was assigned to be the contact person for one of the families the Club had "adopted" for the year. This particular family consisted of a single mother and her 10 year old son. I would have to check in with the family monthly to see if they needed any assistance. I would also have the pleasure of bringing over gifts to their house at Christmas and Easter.
I jumped into my role in earnest, talking to the single mother on the phone and compiling their Christmas wishlist. I eased the mother's guilt and encouraged her to not only include necessities but also fun things she longed for. She had no trouble listing her son's wildest desires: a ripstick, a Wii, and Ugg boots, but she restricted her items to size 20 jeans and a new Playtex bra. It took a great deal of gentle coaxing to get her to reveal that she would love some Rachael Ray cookbooks and some warm Ugg boots too.
We were all sitting around on the floor of our front room rediscovering our favorite ornaments when the doorbell rang. It was the president of the Junior Women's Club, loaded down with gifts for our social services family. She made three trips back and forth from her car in order to bring in all the items. I was amazed by the generosity of the club members. Over the next few days, more items trickled in and soon the entire list, including the Ugg boots, was complete. My children were giddy with excitement about this ever-growing pile of loot near the tree in our front room. Even though I kept explaining that they were not for them, they still found it thrilling.
On Christmas eve morning, I took Bella, my eldest, with me to play Santa. I thought the timing was perfect. Just before waking up to our annual day of consumer excess, we would shower a deserving family with gifts the likes of which they'd never seen before.
We drove up to the house, a run-down two-family home that Bella was amazed to discover was just down the street from her pre-school. We rang the doorbell, both of us a little nervous as we waited for the mother to make her way to the door. She opened the screen door with a loud creak and stepped down awkwardly onto the porch. Bella's eyes opened wide as she watched the largest person she had ever seen greet us. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when I greeted her with a hug. She was so grateful and thrilled to see the mountain of gifts we had brought over. She thanked us profusely and then turned to Bella and asked if she could give her a hug. Bella was so surprised by the request that she didn't respond and the mother took that as a yes. She pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the forehead, saying, "God bless you my child."
Bella was silent as we drove away. I kept up a steady monologue about what a nice thing we'd just done, and how without our help, that family would have had a very sad Christmas. At that point, Bella asked, "why would Santa nto go to their house just like ours? Does Santa not go to poor people's houses?" I spent the next few minutes trying to do damage control on the issue of unequal treatment by Santa. Then I started wondering whether bringing charity directly into our lives had been a bit premature.
Bella's next question made me realize that I definitely was not achieving the result I'd been hoping for. "Mommy," she asked, "can I never go back there? Do I have to? Will you make me? I don't want to." It turns out that direct charity was a little too intense for my shy child.
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