A Day in Her Shoes by Diane Stark
“Your balance is $24.86,” the grocery store clerk said. The woman’s mouth dropped open. “But I just slid my card through. I shouldn’t owe anything.” She put her hand on her hip and said, “I need to see a manager.” I fought the urge to sigh. I was the next one in line, and I was in a hurry. I debated finding another check-out lane, but I’d already put my purchases on the conveyor belt. The woman behind me caught my eye and smiled. “It looks like it might be a while.” “He’s not good at waiting,” I said, gesturing toward my three-year-old son, Nathan. The woman smiled. “I remember those days.” She tilted her head toward her own son. “He’s eight now, so it’s less of a problem.” “What’s a problem?” The little boy asked with a toothless grin. I smiled back and said, “This is Nathan, and he doesn’t like to wait. He’s going to be a total wiggle worm in just a second.” “Oh, well, I’m Jimmy, and I’m a wiggle worm too. Can I play with Nathan?” I nodded and watched as Nathan allowed Jimmy to look at the Thomas the Train toy he’d brought with him. I smiled at Jimmy’s mom and said, “Hopefully this won’t take too long.” She nodded. “And hopefully, Jimmy and Nathan can keep one another entertained while we wait.” The boys played with Nathan’s train for a few minutes, but just as I feared, Nathan’s wiggle worm tendencies kicked in. After checking with Jimmy’s mom, I handed each boy a lollipop, hoping to buy a few more minutes. While we stood there, I kept waiting for the woman in front of me to apologize for the wait.
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I would have felt bad for holding up the line, but it didn’t seem to faze her. A full ten minutes later, the manager finally arrived. I knew I was on borrowed time with Nathan’s patience level and hoped the situation could be resolved quickly. But when the manager found out what the problem was, the situation only got worse. “You can’t use a food stamp card to buy candy,” the manager explained. “But it’s Christmas candy,” the woman said. “Don’t my kids deserve to have candy in their stockings?” I sighed and heard Jimmy’s mom do the same. My attitude was going downhill fast. “Everyone knows you can’t buy candy with a food stamp card,” I muttered and rolled my eyes at Jimmy’s mom. “Why is this woman wasting our time?” The manager just shrugged. “Yes, of course your kids deserve to have candy at Christmas, but you’ll have to use cash to pay for it.” The woman’s hand went back to her hip. “I don’t have any money. I only have this food stamp card, and I want to use it to buy this candy for my kids.” Her voice cracked for just a second before the defiant look returned. “Ma’am, I don’t make the rules,” the manager said, “but I do have to enforce them.” “Then put the candy back,” she snapped. “I’ll just tell my kids that the rules made sure they had empty Christmas stockings.” “Empty stockings?” Jimmy said with wide eyes. “Who’s going to have empty stockings?” Jimmy’s mom looked at me. How can you explain food stamps and bureaucratic rules to an eight-year-old boy? She whispered to him for a minute, but the wide eyed look didn’t go away. “But what about Santa?” Jimmy said. The woman looked right at Jimmy and
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gave him a small, sad smile. “Santa hasn’t been to my house since my husband died,” she said quietly. I swallowed and exchanged a guilty look with Jimmy’s mom. Jimmy, of course, focused more on the lack of Santa than the lack of a husband. Jimmy turned back to his mom. “Can I just pay for her candy? I mean, if Santa doesn’t come and the lady doesn’t have any money, then her kids won’t have any candy, and that would be really sad.” He grabbed his mom’s hand. “Please, Mom? I can use my birthday money.” I felt tears spring to my eyes as I watched Little Jimmy beg his mom to let him spend his birthday money on candy for kids he didn’t know. His kindness made me feel ashamed of my own behavior. I was in a hurry, and the poor woman in front of me had been nothing more than an inconvenience. But an eight-year-old boy saw her as a real person. He put himself in her kids’ shoes and offered to help. I could hardly believe my own hypocrisy. It hadn’t been too many Christmases ago that I myself had been a struggling single mom. I’d walked a day in that woman’s shoes, and yet I’d judged her without even knowing her. I reached into my purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Jimmy’s mom tapped me on the shoulder and I passed her money to the woman as well. “I’m sorry,” I said. “About your husband… and my attitude.” The woman’s tough façade cracked before my eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured. “My kids thank you too.” The woman used our money to pay for her kids’ Christmas candy, and before she left, she turned to smile at Jimmy’s mom and me. “Thank goodness for people like you,” she said. And thank goodness for kids like Jimmy, who make the world a better place, even at eight years old.