Compassion shared

By Eric Steiman

On a recent morning, around 6:30, I made my quasi-daily “exercise” trek from my North Chattanooga home to Panera Bread, downtown. My routine includes a brisk walk, maybe a few pushups, and a coffee and blueberry bagel for my leisurely walk home.
As I made my way down Market Street, I came across a homeless person curled up next to the sidewalk, sound asleep, with his head propped up against the brick wall of 212. “That looks uncomfortable. How sad,” I said to myself, and walked on towards Panera, thinking no more about it. Once inside I got in line, bought my coffee and bagel, and chatted for awhile with another regular costumer. Then I was out and on my way—enjoying hot coffee, a sweet bagel and the cool, crisp air, clearing my head in preparation for my day’s work.
About two blocks down, I looked across the street and saw the homeless person still asleep up against the wall. I stopped walking. I stood there for a couple of minutes, contemplating what I should do, all along knowing deep down what the right thing was. I then turned around and hoofed it back to Panera. This time I had to wait in a much longer line, and I thought, “I hope he’s still there when I get out.” I bought a plain bagel and butter with the one dollar and change I had left in my pocket and headed out the door.
To my surprise, the man was still lying there on the pavement. As I walked toward him I passed a 20-ish guy getting out of his car with a gym bag in one hand (headed to the Sports Barn, no doubt) and a bag of Krystals in the other. I looked at him and thought, “Now that’s not really a wise choice, is it?”—something I hear quite often from my wife—and I continued on.
I stopped a few feet short of the figure on the sidewalk and watched closely for signs of life. How horrible it would have been to later find out I had left a bagel for a deceased individual. Thankfully, his body rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing, and at that point I quickly walked up, placed the bag gently but snugly up against his arm, and kept moving.
Now, I don’t know if I heard something or just felt it, but I glanced back over my shoulder and saw the guy with the gym bag placing his sack of Krystals next to my Panera bag. I stopped short and spun around, goose bumps from head to toe. I was hoping he would look in my direction so I could raise my coffee in a gesture of good will, but he turned and walked off. I watched for a moment to see if he might look back, but he didn’t. So I went on my way, knowing that whatever the day throws at me I can handle it. “There, but for the grace of God…”
Looking back on my childhood, I can’t recall the specific moments when my parents instilled in me a sense of compassion for others in our community, or the world at large. Still, as I’ve grown older, I’ve become more aware of the need all around us, the void that cries out to be filled. I don’t believe you can become aware of these things all on your own. Someone has to make that impression upon you at some point in your life.
I want to be that someone who teaches the lessons of compassion and responsibility for the world around us to my four children. I’m kind of new to these feelings, and I’m not sure which direction this desire to be a better person and father will take. But I plan to begin making a difference right away—starting with my kids.

A child doesn’t grow into an empathetic adult all on his own. Someone has to make that impression upon him.

Author bio:
Eric Steiman is a self-employed master carpenter. He and his wife, Stephanie, live with their four children in North Chattanooga.