My very small, but humorous embarrassing
moment this afternoon made me glad that I haven’t had too many deeply
embarrassing moments in my life. On the
few occasions that I have, there were good people who made the moments more
bearable, and their acts of kindness make those memories better ones. I always hope that I am a person who can help,
who can make someone feel better. That
doesn’t come automatically to us; it comes from people who teach us the right
way to act. It also brought to mind one a story from when I was a girl.
I remember one
person, and one incident in particular, who made a big impact on me and was one
of many who have helped shape the kind of person I have become.
When I was a young girl, my best friend
Frannie lived across the street. She
and my brother and I did everything together.
Her father, Mr. Fichter, was an older gentleman, a father of eight children,
the youngest of whom was Fran. Mr.
Fichter, from all I can recall, was a very laid back, kind, hardworking man. I can see him in my mind’s eye as if he were
right in front of me. He was older, shorter
in stature, thin gray hair, and gentle face that sported small round
specatacles. Most times when I saw him
he still had on his blue work uniform, Carrier I think, the heating company. Every memory I have of him is good, whether
he was fooling around on New Years Eve, having a sing along in their family
dining room around the piano, spending time sharing the special Christmas train
display he built each year, showing us old silent movies on a pull down screen
with his old 8mm projector.
There was a time
when Mr. Fichter would take Frannie, my brother and I on the city bus on Sunday
mornings into downtown Pittsburgh .
I remember exiting the bus, the smell of
fresh cold winter air, the bus exhaust, and McDonald’s near the bus stop. It is a
combination of smells that many suburbanites might find offensive, but that I
love, instantly transporting me like a time machine that even HG Wells would
envy. Each of us has our own smell, or sound, and that
strange city medley is one of mine.
Some mornings Mr.
Fichter would treat us to a Danish or a cup of hot cocoa. I can’t remember if it was before or after,
but he would take us to a big Catholic Cathedral in town, where we were part of
the children’s choir. It was special,
and we got to sing from high up in the balcony. I don’t even think the Mass was heavily
attended, but it was something wonderful, in a place we might not ever have
visited otherwise.
It was on one bus
trip, whether it was departing or returning, I can’t recall, that Mr. Fichter
gave me a very special gift, a lesson really, on what it means to walk the
walk, what it means to be truly kind. Back
then, lots of people rode the city bus, and on a Sunday morning, there was
every sort of person using the public transit to get to Church, visit friends
and family, travel downtown. As the bus
slowed to a stop, an elderly woman got up and made her way towards the front. My friend and I looked at the woman and we began
to giggle. From behind, we saw that the hem of the
elderly woman’s skirt or dress and her slip had become trapped in her
undergarment. Half of her underthings
were showing, exposing her little legs and stockings. Now, in meager defense, we were just squirts,
and any children our age would have giggled as well.
No one approached
the older woman. Mr. Fichter , who was,
simply put, a man of a different time, gave us a look that locked the giggles
in our throats. It wasn't an angry or
scowling face, which most kids become practically immune to; it was a very sad
and disappointed look that he gave us. And
with that, he quickly approached the woman, whispered something quietly, and
returned to us. I don’t remember anything
about how she reacted. I only remember his
look, and then his action. I think he may have spoken to us afterwards about
how it would have been better, less embarrassing for the woman if one of us or
any other lady on the bus had done the simple act of kindness that he
performed. Maybe that is the older me understanding what that look and act
imprinted on my memory.
I am sure that
over the many years I have fallen far short of the example Mr. Fichter lived
out in his every day life. I do know
that at that moment, I never wanted to witness the look on a face I considered
so inherently good. I tell my kids all
the time, don’t do anything you wouldn't want Jesus or your grandma to know,
and in my case Mr. Fichter . Sometimes
that can mean saying nothing, or it can
be doing something that is embarrassing. Having kids, and working with kids, it’s especially important for me to do the right thing when I
see the opportunity, knowing that little eyes are watching. I want the imprint I leave on their memories
to be a good one.
