3 bucks and the kindness of strangers

I took my six-year-old son for a couple of booster shots the other day.

It involved tears, and smooth jazz and deep breathing and bribes.

And this was preceding the actual doctor’s visit.

When we pulled up to the large medical office, there were two huge firetrucks blocking the parking lot.

I like to think that I’m reasonable in these situations, but when the security guard waived for me to keep driving, I full on stopped my car, rolled down the window and told him “We’ve got an appointment for 9AM”

No dice.

“Should we go home?” my son asked from the back seat.

“I don’t see any flames coming from the building,” I answered.

And that’s where we’re at folks.

I didn’t make it this far to turn around.

Like so much else - these days - when something seems difficult and absurd and surreal, I try to break it down and make it sound doable for the kids, and also for myself.

“We’ll just circle the block and if we find a spot, we’ll park. And we’ll walk over, and if they let us in we’ll go in. And if not — if the building’s actually on fire — then we’ll go home” No problem!

We parked in a lot a few blocks away. 2A I told myself.

We assembled in a line circling the block, ran into a close friend there, and made our way into the building — my son holding his plush penguin and securing his small mask.

The visit itself was uneventful.

“It didn’t hurt,” he said. “The fear was worse than the shot.” My wise boy.

When we finished we did the thing in reverse, made our way back a few blocks and into the garage.

We circled the 2nd floor, and like some fevered anxiety dream come-to-life, could not find the car: All of the cars in spots were blocked in by valets.

Wait — I’m in the wrong lot; there’s an identical one next door!

“We’ll just walk down these steps and up the next steps and find 2A and get the car!” No big deal!

But then the machine wouldn’t take our money to validate our ticket, and there was no attendant in sight.

I had made a valiant effort to stay calm. Now I could feel my skin prickling up in a sweaty shiver against my shirt. We were stuck. Me and my kid and his penguin plushy.

Then we met Lou.

A man around my father’s age. Also there to see his doctor. He gave me three crisp one dollar bills and told me try again.

The machine was wonky and we still weren’t sure if it worked, if I’d be able to get out of the lot.

And he said: You go first, and I’ll stay to make sure you get out.

I asked his name. Lou. I told him I’d include him in my prayers.

He said thank you, he’d need them.

And that was it.

That’s it.

That’s all of it.

His kindness. His consideration for me and my son before himself. A stranger who I know was at the doctor for something more serious than a booster shot.

His decency is what we’re living off of and I know it, and I tell that to my boy.

We get out of the lot, we roll down the windows, we turn up the music — we make it home.

In time for math.

Wishing you all moments of consolation and grace.

Prayer + Action Vote!