Am I The Solution, or Am I The Problem?
Part One:
I have a question.
Most people want to help others, as do I. I don't mean running into a burning building to save a baby or a puppy (besides, that involves running – who has the time?)
I mean little things, like holding a door open, help someone carry packages, just general do-the-right-thing acts.
But, perhaps I step in where I don't belong. I will give you two examples why I might think this:
One: A few days ago, as I drove through Duke Island Park, I saw a young woman crouched down by her right front tire. Hers was one of the only cars in the parking lot, thought maybe she had a flat tire.
I drove my car toward her, stopped three or four spaces away (as to not crowd her) and ask if she was alright. She looked at me, shocked (or something like shocked) and said, "Who, me? I'm fine, got my goddamn dancing shoes on and I'm going to go dancing." (direct quote – maybe it was code for 'fuck off old man')
Two: A while back, I dated a woman (more shocked faces, I'm sure). As we walked through the 4H Fair in Flemington (say that three times fast [you're doing it, aren't you?]) saw a young woman had a problem with her baby carriage (it was stuck).
I took a step toward the young woman, but my date grabbed my arm, pulled me back, and told me to stop.
"What are you doing?" she asked, confusion on her face.
"I'm going to go help that woman," I replied.
"You can't do that," she said, then said something that I really never thought of before, "you are going to scare her."
I am 6'2" and weigh two-something-something, but never thought I would scare people.
So, I ask the questions: Am I doing more harm then help? Am I intruding where I don't belong?
If you didn’t know me, and saw me coming toward you (and it wasn’t for a first date) would you be concerned?
Then again, I’ve had some first date were I was the one concerned.
Maybe I will re-think how I approach these situations.
Part Two:
So, just one day after I told myself I would no longer walk up to complete strangers (especially women) to see if they needed help, I walked up to a complete stranger (woman) who, turned out, did need my help.
In Duke Island Park this afternoon, I parked my car, put on my earbuds, and headed to the trail. That’s when I spotted the woman in question. She was small, probably in her seventies, with very short bright red hair.
Also noticed, as I moved toward her, another woman, probably mid-fifties, also headed towards this red-haired woman.
I stayed a comfortable distance, but she looked up and saw me. At this point, I was compelled to say something because of what she held in her hands.
What did she have in her hands?
It was a shot put.
“Excuse, me,” I said.
Then, before I could say anything else, she asked, “Did you use to throw? What am I doing wrong?”
The second woman stood a few feet away, and I apologized if I interrupted anything.
“No, not at all,” she said, “go right ahead.”
We exchanged names. The shot putter was Cherry, the other woman’s name was Beatrice.
Cherry said she was competing in the Senior Games in a few weeks.
So, for the next ten minutes, I gave her some pointers. She was not going to slide (or spin), just throw it from the standing position.
I adjusted how she held the shot put (thumb under, fingers together); told her to look out the back of the circle before she turned and threw; toss it out so there is an arc, and to always push with her legs.
She had a measuring tape, to note the distance of her first throw before I got there.
Fourteen feet.
She threw a second time, after my suggestions, then measured the distance.
Her first throw was fourteen feet, and her second throw was fourteen feet two inches.
Then she said something to me, that no man wants to hear from a woman.
“Great, Al, thanks for the two inches…”
It was hard not to conceal a smile.
She threw a few more times, some good, some not so much.
Did I mention she was in her seventies?
And by that, I mean, ‘Fucking-a, Cherry, you go for it!’
After that, I left Cherry and Beatrice alone so they can do whatever they met up to do.
Just want to say, good luck, Cherry, in the upcoming Senior Games.
And remember, push with your legs.
Now I go back to my original questions, am I the problem solver, or the problem?
Guess I’ll just have to figure that out, one day at a time.
