My brother sent this:

I’d hate to have anyone believe that homelessness is all I can write about. But.

I adore both my children (as SG would say, Shocker). Here’s one reason regarding the Younger Girl: when she was tiny (maybe three-four years old) and in preschool, her class was playing “who are the people in your neighborhood” role play. There were mailcarriers and shopkeepers and mommies and doctors…and YG sitting huddled between two tables, looking very sad. Her teacher thought maybe she’d had a tiff with one of her classmates, and came over to investigate. She asked, gently, what was wrong, if she’d had a fight with someone, or missed her mom, or…

“No,” YG said emphatically. “I’m being poor. Poor people are cold and sad.”

Flash forward to yesterday, when I took the kid downtown for a checkup at the orthodontist*. As we went along she was chattering about the possibility of a post-dental visit to Starbucks, and whether we could hit the library and whether I had my library card since she hasn’t seen her library card in some time. We passed a homeless guy. Downtown San Francisco, particularly around Market (where the BART station is) has a large, very visible homeless population.

But this particular homeless guy had a dog. And all the way to the dentist and all the way back, YG was vocally concerned about the dog and his man. So concerned that she forewent a treat at Starbucks and steered us, instead, to a drugstore, where we bought a bag of Beneful (”the expensive stuff! it’ll be a real treat for the dog!”) and a bottle of water and a banana for the guy. Then she was really anxious that the guy and dog would have moved on before we got back with the largesse.

We found them again. I let the girl do the talking–she’s better at it than I am–and she went over without an ounce of self-consciousness. “Hi, puppy! I have something really great for you!” She produced the dog food. The man looked a little stunned to have all this cheery goodwill suddenly aimed at him. The dog sniffed at the bag and at the hands that offered it. “And we have a bottle of water for you guys to share,” she added. “And–I hope you like bananas!”

The man took the banana and the water and said thank you, but with a bewildered look, like he wasn’t sure what had hit him. The dog kept sniffing at the bag, completely at ease with being the object of charitable goodwill.

YG skipped off, feeling excellent.

What impressed me, aside from her generosity (which is not that unusual in kids of that age) was her utter unselfconsciousness. She had stuff, she wanted to share, she was genuinely concerned for the welfare of the guy (and, particularly, of the guy’s dog). And because she was unconcerned about the propriety of what she was doing, she made it easier for the man to take her gifts.

It’s the unselfconsciousness of it that I envy. Because I overthink, and worry, and do the liberal guilt thing. Some of it is simply I’m 53, not 11, and I have a budget of experience that suggests that even the kindest gestures can sometimes be misinterpreted. But some of it is that I’m not YG, who has a greatness of spirit and a compassion that awe me, coupled with the sort of ease that makes it easy for her to ask for help in a store or makes her certain that adults are interested in her opinions on everything. The result is a power for good, I think. I just wish I had it myself.

* I told both children before they were born that they should try to derive their teeth from their father’s side of the family. I went through two sets of braces and have had eleven root canals to date; their father has nice teeth. Why do children never listen?