On the Subway

I wish I could read people's minds. 


Not to know their innermost thoughts, not find all their secrets. People can keep their secrets – it makes them feel more interesting.  But I wish I could read minds so I could comfortably give a dollar to the man who claims to be hungry.  I want to know without a doubt that my dollar is going to buy the man a banana. Or an orange. Or a carton of french fries, it doesn't have to be nutritious. 


I just moved to New York City, and there are so many people here are asking for help, lowering themselves to beg the common man for aid, yet I and my 8 million other city dwelling counterparts rarely give a beggar any more than a sympathetic smile, if that.  We can't do anything but guess whether an act of kindness will help or hurt them. Is this guy really a US army vet recently back from Iraq and down on his luck?  How the hell do any of us know?  I just wish I could read minds! 


I want to be able to tell the difference between two homeless men who look so similar that I base my judgement on surface clues that may or may not be relevant.  I want to be able to tell their sadnesses apart, because God, these men look so sad. 


We see them everyday, sometimes alone, sometimes with two or three kids, sometimes limping, and sometimes without legs.  I doubt many people can tell a worthy person from a bum.  How do we look a gaggle of poorly dressed little boys and girls in their innocent, wide eyes and say, "I'm sorry, I can't give you this dollar because it's tough to tell if mommy is going to eat it or snort it. Understand?"  


Fairly, one might argue that there are programs and shelters for people in need, and there are other channels to support the deserving people who could use a little help.  Sometimes it's just crushing to wonder if in any other world, we could tell the difference.


A revolution is probably the last thing on my mind, but sometimes I do want to change the world.