Entitlement or Simply Blind

The Chinese tell of a man of Peiping who dreamed of gold, much gold, his heart's desire. He rose one day and when the sun was high he dressed in his finest garments and went to the crowded market place. He stepped directly to the booth of a gold dealer, snatched a bag full of gold coins, and walked calmly away. The officials who arrested him were puzzled: "Why did you rob the gold dealer in broad daylight?" they asked. "And in the presence of so many people?"



"I did not see any people," the man replied. "I saw only gold." -- Louis Binstock

Do you ever think that this is a tale of the corporate world? I have been traveling daily back and forth from a center where businesses seem to have congregated and formed a little citadel of commerce. Everytime my vehicle gets close to the area, I feel like I have entered an 'entitlement' zone. As if rules that apply to the normal citizen no longer need to be heeded there. The first clue is the way people drive.

I've been driving for a number of years, okay a number of decades, and I can't recall (no it isn't Alzheimers) ever being cut off so often, people changing lanes willy nilly, someone speeding at twice the legal limit weaving in and out of traffic. Speed signs being used as 'only a suggestion.'

And never have I seen so many people stop at stoplights and then just sit there after it turned green. Of course they are chatting on cell phones or doing their makeup or eating their breakfast or reading the newspaper or texting someone, but you'd think they'd notice the traffic moving around them. Get into the parking lots and it is worse. Just trying to make a turn into a parking lot can be life threatening.

Yesterday I wheeled my husband's big green van into a wide turn in order to fit it into the handicap slot that has been assigned him by the front door. No one behind. No one in front. I began my turn and my husband yelled. A red car had turned off of the main road and at killer speed zipped right past me as I'm turning across her path. I slammed on the brakes. My husband was jettisoned out of his wheelchair and landed on his knees between the two front seats. As he knelt there he was the poster child for seat belts.

He had been preparing to get out of the van, who knew someone would feel the need to 'slip past' while I'm parking. We thought the risk was on the road to this little oasis. He was hurt and a bit humiliated and stunned as three volunteers maneuvered him back into his wheelchair. I was angry that such a 'me first' attitude, disregard for others, not to mention stupid unsafe behavior, had caused him such pain.

It seems like just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to entitlement based upon an overwhelming need to get ahead, get more money, get promoted, or simply get away with something.

I recently posted a little saying that seems to take on new meaning every time I venture out into the world.

LOVE PEOPLE AND USE THINGS.

NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE.

I do so miss courtesy, consideration, love of fellow man.... Perhaps that is what was so poignant about the three men who came to rescue my husband. One was head of security, one was a dear friend, and one a stranger with a cast on his foot. They didn't hesitate to assess the situation, show a little sympathy, and then set to work to right the wrong. They all cared about giving comfort, making sure no one was harmed, wounded, or uncomfortable. All three wanted nothing more than to help. The help continued as we found a first aid kit and I bandaged the gash on my husband's leg. And people were considerate of him and his feelings, letting him regain his composure and get on with his day.
 
I still wonder about that woman who found her path so much more important that she put us all in harms way. She even had a choice to not come down that aisle. She could have seen us blocking her path and turned. Instead she made the choice to push her way through. Thoughtless? Clueless? Stupid? Unthinking? I don't know what to attribute her actions to. She may think nothing happened, no big deal. Maybe she went on with her day feeling entitled to what she had done. She got away with it. She wasn't held responsible. Forced to face the consequences of her actions....
 
But the action I took to avoid collision with her, since I was clearly the only one who could avoid the collision, caused me to harm my husband. Caused me to put on the brakes and throw him to the floor. Caused him to bleed.
 
I drive a big BIG green van and on the way home I envisioned that scene from the movie Fried Green Tomatoes where the Kathy Bates character rams the hell out of the two sweet young things in a VW with her bigger heavier car. All I could think was how satisfying it would be to be empowered and take matters into my own hands and stop following laws and being courteous and caring about others. It is such an inviting thought.
 
But then I realized -- I would be just like that woman in the red car. That is NOT someone I ever want to be.

For more about wheelchair safety visit http://thetravelingwheelchair.com/bus-seat-belt-laws-mostly-exclude-wheelchairs-by-john-seewer-ap/ and http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/05/10/AR2010051002834.html or go to my blog list and click on The Traveling Wheelchair blog and then scroll down to the appropriate story on his site.

Bridge to nowhere

Crisis are becoming almost commonplace. A few years ago, a bridge collapse or steam explosion, would have kept me glued to the television while sending emails to everyone I know in the area, making sure they all were safe.

Somehow the steam vented before I became totally aware of the problem. And the bridge collapse just didn't compute. Maybe I'm overloaded with my own pressures and problems or maybe I'm getting immune to all of this because it is happening so often.

Today a co-worker and I had a chance to talk and she said, "You know, my brother-in-law lives in Minneapolis...."

Evidently they don't keep in touch regularly with him, but she added. "He was really shook up. He travels that bridge to and from work."

And then she paused. Swallowed. And said, "He had crossed that bridge at six, the collapse happened at 6:05."

We stared at each other. I thought about my decision this morning to use five more minutes to write to my son, putting me on the road to work five minutes later than usual. If that had been her brother-in-law, he would quite possibly be dead.

My friend's philosophy is to shrug and say, "It wasn't his time."

When these events happen, I find it difficult to believe that people die because it is their time. Disasters seem like an intrusion, a foreign, unexpected element that sweeps people out of their lives, rather than 'their time.'

The defects in that bridge. Someone choosing perhaps to cut costs, eliminate a step in the process, take the lowest bid on construction and materials. Those might have been the culprits that determined whether it was 'someone's time' to die or not.

Somehow being raised by independent, hard working blue-collar parents, I came to realize that my life is in my hands and for the most part, I like being responsible for it. But more and more we must trust and depend on others to make decisions that literally mean life or death for us.

People building bridges, cars, or even growing vegetables for mass consumption seem to forget at times their responsibility to the common good, to their fellow man, to god as good stewards. Instead they focus on profit or achieving some arbitrary goal like finishing by a certain date.

Civic duty doesn't just happen at soup kitchens and Habit for Humanity. It happens everyday, with every decision, big or small, that affects more than yourself. What we do and don't do actually makes a difference.

My brother-in-law, an engineer, sent photos of the bridge collapse. Somehow I hadn't seen many of these snapshots of disaster. The one included above strikes me as someone whose time should not have come. Somehow a Good Samaritan arrived to ensure that she lived to return to her family.

Sometimes Good Samaritans are the only ones standing between us and all of the elements of the world. Perhaps we're seeing an angel in a yellow shirt.

It may be a bit late to finally realize the immensity of the latest disasters, but its sinking in. I wonder if our leaders are getting it?

Angels All Around Us

By Dawn Goldsmith

I’m a firm believer that we share this earth with angels.

But those winged Biblical hosts were far from my thoughts as my two sons, husband and I drove home from a last minute shopping trip. Our minds were on the upcoming camping trip. The boys chatted in the back seat about the big fish they’d bring home. “But I’m not going to eat them. Noooo way,” Nick, our eight-year-old, red-haired picky eater declared.

“Me either,” his pre-teen brother said in one of those rare moments when they agreed on something.

Our car trunk overflowed with fishing gear, foods to cook over a campfire and various necessities from hot dog forks to mosquito repellent. Derrol drove the familiar street that led away from the shopping mall and toward the little farming community where we lived. I sat in the front passenger seat, Nick sat behind me twisting and manipulating his favorite transformer toy. His older brother, Dave sat behind his Dad.

Anticipation filled the car that sunny summer day.

We approached the intersection. I looked at the car and the woman driving it as she slowed for the stop sign at the cross street.

Sometimes I get premonitions. I felt her disconnection and knew she didn’t see us. I opened my mouth to suggest Derrol slow down, when the woman sped up, heading her car directly at us.

My husband hit the horn and the brakes at the same time. There was room for us to miss each other if the woman braked. Instead, she pressed harder on the gas and her car flew into the intersection. We learned later that in her panic, she hit the gas pedal thinking it was the brake.

As most will tell you, time during a crisis slows down and every detail crystallizes like facets of a prism. Our brakes locked and the nose of the car jerked down as the woman’s car slammed into us. Between the sudden stop and the impact, we were thrown around like rag dolls.

My husband gasped for breath and fought the car and the pain as his clavicle snapped. My head grazed the windshield before my seat belt tightened and threw me back in my seat. I felt Nick’s face hit the back of my seat and saw Dave fly forward into Derrol’s seat. Their cries frightened me more than the accident. I struggled to get out of my seat belt. I frantically beat on the door. One thought, one instinct led me, “I must get the boys out of the car.”

I couldn’t help my husband and I couldn’t get the door open. I couldn’t reach my children and we all needed to get out of the car in case it would catch fire or explode.

We were trapped.

Suddenly from out of nowhere a crowd of people surrounded the two cars.

A burly older man wrenched open my door while a man and woman ministered to my husband and helped him and our oldest son out of the car. I rushed to the back door. It stood open filled with a young man who was pulling off the most beautiful multi-colored sweater. He stuffed it under my son’s bloody nose and murmured encouragement.

“You’re OK. It’s just a nosebleed. You’ll be fine. Man, you’re one brave kid.”

Silly how concern over a spoiled garment would even cross my mind. But it did. I even reached to stop him from putting the lovely garment to my son’s face, and then felt ashamed that I would even consider the garment more than my son’s need.

Nick scrambled out of the car and into my arms and the young man with his sweater stepped away. I thought of the Bible story about Joseph and his coat of many colors and above my son’s head, I tearfully thanked him and asked his name.

If he told me, I don’t remember.

In the following minutes paramedics came to check our injuries and police asked questions for their reports. Thankfully no one suffered serious injuries. In the following days we could feel the bump where the two pieces of my husband’s clavicle rejoined and we laughed about our bruises and stiff muscles.

I never again saw the people who ministered to us. For almost three decades, I’ve thought often of the young man in his colorful sweater who selflessly ministered to a frightened child. He earned this mother’s prayers through the years and my heartfelt thanks.