By Amber Knox
As I was pushing my cart back to the grocery store today, feeling like a civil hero for returning it, a young boy called out to me, “Would you like to buy some candy?”
I had seen the two young men, I’m guessing around twelve years old or so, selling candy when I entered the store earlier. I had hurried past while they were talking to another potential customer. I assumed they were selling candy bars for athletics. But this time there was no hiding from them.
“No, thank you,” I said dismissively.
Returning the basket, I was going to have to pass them again so I decided I would just donate a dollar to the cause so I could continue feeling like a good person. And I thought about my kids and how they depended on my husband and myself to ask people at work to buy whatever they were supposed to be selling or throw it out on the family group text. At least these kids were responsible for their own fundraising.
I approached their table; one boy had his head down on folded arms looking rather defeated. Looking down at their little table I could tell something wasn’t quite right. They had a grocery bag full of jolly ranchers and some other packages of candy lined up. No candy bars with the notorious white wrapper I’m used to seeing used for raising money.
I told them that I wasn’t buying anything, but I would donate some money. I would like to know what organization my money is going towards, so I asked. And then I got the answer I wasn’t expecting, the answer that spun around in my head for the rest of the afternoon.
“My mother was recently fired and I’m trying to get money to help her with the bills,” he said matter-of-factly.
He was sincerely grateful for the donation. So grateful I had to stop myself from going to the ATM and pulling out more money. I made a social media post hoping others would donate.
I don’t know this boy, I don’t know his mother, I don’t know their backstory or financial choices. I don’t know where the money I gave will end up going. I don’t even know if the story was true. But here is what I do know.
I know a boy who wasn’t old enough to get a job himself needed money. I know he had a very supportive friend. I know that he had to risk being teased by peers for asking for money. I know he was very polite.
Based on being raised by a single mother with no help from my father, here is what I also know, whether it is true for this boy or not.
A single parent doesn’t have a partner to share their stress with. They don’t have a partner to talk to after the kids go to bed. Nor do they have a partner to lean on financially or emotionally. They can try to hide the enormous weight they carry from their kids, which is a burden unto itself. But kids grow up. They become observant.
Here is also what I know. As a child of a single parent, you want to help them. You don’t want to cause them anymore stress, financially or otherwise. You don’t have a father to take you to buy them Mother’s Day presents, or birthday presents (I was fortunate enough to have a grandmother and an aunt to help me with these things). You understand that your Christmases might look different than your friends’. You dread when the teachers ask, “What did you do this summer?” on the first day of school expecting vacation stories. You don’t feel shame about these things. You don’t feel shame about having less. You feel defensive of your hardworking mother. You don’t want anyone thinking that you don’t have enough. Early in life you gain perspective on wants versus needs, a lesson your peers may not learn until they are adults out on their own.
So here was this boy, taking the initiative. Being brave. I don’t know if his mother knew what he was doing or not. I don’t know if she would encourage it or not. One year in third grade my class wrote to the Easter Bunny. In my letter I told him that we didn’t have enough money to get me an Easter dress that year. Getting an Easter dress was a huge deal, maybe because it was the eighties and formal dresses were beyond puffy fabulousness.
The school, not actually knowing the Easter Bunny’s address, sent our letters to a class of older students for them to write back to us. I don’t know what the other kids wrote about, but my letter caused quite a series of events. The class started a fundraiser to buy me a dress. There was a sale at JC Penny and the boy who got my letter had his fellow students bring in quarters. Then a woman called my school saying she would love to make a dress for a little girl. This is when the school contacted my mother and she learned of my letter, the students fundraising, and the seamstress.
She was mortified.
She had been venting about money to a friend and I had overheard. As a child my thoughts went straight to not getting my dress. My mother explained to me that I was always going to be getting my dress and that I couldn’t ask other people for money. I did get the dress the lady made though. The school explained to my mother it would make the woman happy to have a little girl to make something for. I still have that dress. Peach with puffy sleeves and a removable rosette. Just epitome eighties fashion. My mother has blocked the entire ordeal from her memory. I remind her every once in a while, though, because I’m cruel and reseeing that look on her face makes me laugh. I can’t imagine being called into my kid’s school and being told that there is a fundraiser going on at another school to buy them a fancy dress.
I bring this up because seeing this boy I’m reminded that his mother may not know what he is up to. She may be mortified if and when she finds out. We never know what motivates people, especially children and their naïve pure hearts.
I tend to be a cynical person when it comes to people asking for money, especially after living in a large city for close to a decade and being asked for money constantly. Never knowing who is truly in need and who is scamming you.
But that is why I love living in a small town. We know each other. We help each other. A local grocery store will allow a little boy and his friend to be entrepreneurs outside their door. A local publication will let me write about it. And you as a fellow resident know what I’m talking about. I truly believe we have a strong bond amongst us here that you cannot find even in other small towns. We have our problems of course, but I do believe when it comes to helping each other we really step up. Even if it’s our kids donating quarters to buy a girl, they never met, a dress.
If there is a single mother out there that you know I hope you will tell her happy Mother’s Day on May 12th with new insight. And if you know her kids don’t have anyone to help them show her how much they love her, maybe lend a hand. It will mean the world to those kids.
