Speak Gently

by Christine Boyd

Have you ever bitten into a fresh-baked soft, chewy chocolate chip cookie and felt like all is right in the world just for that moment?  That bite brings me back to my childhood, or more specifically, reminds me of middle school, where the cafeteria sold the absolute best giant cookies ever baked.  The whole cafeteria always smelled of cookies, and it didn’t matter what kind of day I was having, because when I sank my teeth into one of those cookies, all was good.  It was that feeling that someone cared enough to bake for me.   

 I love to bake chocolate chip cookies for the people I love.  I’m kind of famous for making them.  People rave about how delicious they are, and I enjoy making them happy with something so simple. I can’t take credit for the recipe; it’s on the back of the Nestle Toll House chocolate chip package. It has become my signature dessert that I bring to dinners with friends, work functions, or simply bake for people to enjoy. I like letting my friends and family know that I cared enough to bake them a cookie.  

I got to thinking about these cookies the other day as I was out running errands.  I stopped at a red light and turned my head to the left to spot a homeless person asking for help.  I felt a heavy feeling in my heart, and I took that second to make eye contact.  He was a young kid, maybe in his twenties, in dirty clothes, and skinny down to the bone.  He looked sad and unwell.  I felt helpless.  The only thing I had in the car was a bottle of water which I handed to him and gave him a smile.  I felt powerless in that moment, and I actually became angry that this person is not getting the help he needs. He is someone’s son, maybe a brother, or someone’s cousin, or friend.  This shouldn’t happen in a country with resources, education, and help. Even though I don’t know the situation, or the story behind how this person became homeless, I do understand that people have to ask for help when they need it.  I wanted him to call someone in his family, or ask someone at a shelter, or a soup kitchen for help.   

I remember growing up in Yonkers, New York.  On occasion, while riding around with my parents, we would see someone homeless and begging for money.  My mother and father would always express concern and compassion for the person. They would tell me that this could happen to anyone.  

“We’re all just a paycheck away from this situation,” my mother would say.  She knew that no one is immune to problems, and she was teaching me not to judge people, but to show compassion for them. I felt that compassion at the traffic light that day.  

I realize that I have no control over the homeless situation, but that I could do something small to help.  I decided to pack lunches and keep them in a cooler in my car.  When I come across a homeless person, give them a bag lunch;  a juice box, a crustable, a napkin, a card with a kind message, and of course, my homemade chocolate chip cookie.  I figure that if I can bite into a cookie, and remember that someone cared, then this might remind that person that they are special.  Maybe a memory will nudge that person to reach out for help.  It’s definitely worth a try.  That day at the stop light, I decided to do what I can to help, even if it’s just a brown paper bag filled with some love.