It was Monday morning, about 8:15. As usual, I was running late for work. Despite this, I stopped at a local store in my neighborhood to buy some juices and snacks for my day. This impromptu detour left me with an unforgettable memory of helping a stranger in need. I will always cherish this heartwarming experience.
After parking, I walked up to the store. As I did, I noticed an elderly couple standing near the front door. It struck me as odd that they were alone so early in the morning. Yet I thought they were waiting for someone.
My curiosity made me take note of their clothing, which seemed more appropriate for a Sunday morning church service.
The old man appeared to be in his late 80s or early 90s. He wore a two-piece plaid brown suit. His coat hung loosely on his bony body, making him look like a kid wearing his father's old clothes. An off-white shirt with a fraying collar and a faded paisley-patterned tie added a quaint but shabby touch to his appearance. Scuffed, worn dark brown leather shoes in need of a good polish completed his outfit.
The old man had long, thinning strands of white hair that could not hide the bald patch on his head. Brown age spots covered the heavily wrinkled skin on his face. He had unusually large ears that hung on each side of his head like two pink satellite dishes. His apparent weak eyes appeared magnified to the size of quarters behind old-fashioned thick horn-rimmed glasses.
Sadly, his right arm hung limply at his side. He gripped his scratched wooden cane with his left hand, which trembled from some old age ailment. Blue veins showed through the pale skin of his bony hands.
I felt that the early morning heat was bearable. I doubted the old man would be comfortable in his clothes much longer, given the expected rise in temperature as the day progressed. I knew he would be sweating by nine if he stayed out that long.
In a delightful way, the old gentleman and his clothes reminded me of my beloved grandfather, Charles Benjamin Metz. In our family, he was affectionately known as "Papa." The old man in front of the store was about the same age as Papa was when he passed away. But that's where the similarity ends. In contrast to the old man's scruffy appearance, Papa always dressed meticulously. Always.
My grandfather was over six feet tall and wore stylish outfits well into his late 70s. I remember how proud I was of him, especially on Sundays after he got ready for church. He complemented his attire with his favorite Old Spice cologne, which left a light, pleasant scent in the air.
Like a soldier in formation, Papa stood ramrod straight in his fancy outfits. He wore starched white shirts with stiff stand-up collars. His perfectly fitting pinstriped suits always included a neatly folded white handkerchief, which peeked out of the upper left pocket of his suit coat. He never left the house without his gold cufflinks and his gold tie clip. His classy gold fob watch, which stayed hidden in the tiny pocket on the right side of his pants, was attached to a gold chain connected to his belt loop. Highly shined wing-tipped leather shoes and a jaunty fedora completed his stylish ensemble.
So, naturally I was pleased when I saw the old man standing outside the store that morning because he had awakened precious memories of my beloved grandfather, "Papa."
The old woman with him had thick frizzy white hair with irregular curls. Her large, white-rimmed glasses sat almost on the tip of her nose. She also had more than her fair share of brown age spots and wrinkles. Her light-blue dress was dotted with tiny delicate daisies. Heavy support stockings encased her thick calves as she leaned unsteadily on a sturdy white wooden cane that helped her keep her balance. The tan handbag, which she gripped like a vise under one arm, did not match any of the colors of her dress or her off-white, thick-soled shoes.
Just as the old man reminded me of Papa, the old woman brought me endearing thoughts of my grandmother, Ida Metz, whom we lovingly called Mama. Everything Mama wore matched, and she always wore jewelry and a fashionable hat over her long, thick, wavy hair. One of Mama's favorite hats had a delicate veil that hung halfway down her face. My grandmother was always the epitome of elegance and style in her day.
I smiled as I thought of the fond memories I had of my grandparents and their fashion sense. But I tucked those memories away, entered the store, and paid no further attention to the elderly couple.
After paying for my items, I left the store and saw that the elderly couple was still standing outside on the left side of the door. I didn't stop because I didn't need to, so I kept walking.
As I headed to my car, I sensed someone approaching me from behind. When I turned around, I came face to face with the old lady and was surprised that she followed me. I saw that the old man was still in his place by the door of the store.
Naturally, I was curious as to what she wanted. So I stopped as she stuck out her cane in front of me and started speaking to me in German. I became a bit annoyed, though. Not so much that her interruption would prolong my lateness for work, but because I did not know German well enough to understand what she wanted from me. I could have easily feigned ignorance and walked away, but I thought, "One day, I might have to ask a stranger for help." I sensed that she needed something from me, but I didn't know what it was yet.
So, I shrugged my shoulders to show her that I didn't understand what she was saying to me. One strange thing that occurred to me was that surely other customers had visited the store before me that morning. But for some reason, this old lady waited and stopped me at that very moment on my way out of the store. To this day, I am not sure why she stopped me.
Although she continued to speak to me in German, she noticed the puzzled look on my face. But she continued talking and then pointed to my car with her cane. That is when I understood that she wanted me to give her a lift somewhere.
Slowly, she turned around and spoke briefly to the old man to tell him goodbye, I suppose. I took her gently by the arm and led her to the door on the passenger side of my car. She stood patiently beside me as I opened the door and helped her into the seat. I waited until she found the seat belt and buckled herself in securely.
After I got in my car seat and started to drive away, she began speaking to me again in German as if she knew I would understand her perfectly. I didn't, but I showed her no further sign of my German language shortcoming other than that shoulder shrug I gave her earlier.
So I settled for just listening to her speak to me in German. Sometimes, that's all it takes: someone to listen.
From what she said, I understood bits and pieces of what she wanted. She had to go to the 'Sparkasse,' which is the German name for local credit unions. The Hochspeyer Sparkasse was a short distance in the opposite direction from the store and from where I worked. But I thought, "If I'm late, I'm late. A few more minutes wouldn't make much of a difference, especially when it came to helping this little old lady." Besides, I tend to work longer hours to make up for any of my tardiness.
Whenever I have to speak German, I expect difficulty conversing with Germans in their language. So, I always use my face-saving question, "Sprechen Sie ein bisschen Englisch?" (Do you speak a little English?) This question usually encourages most Germans to speak some English with me no matter the level of their ability. Combined with my limited knowledge of German, I manage to get through most conversations with Germans and understand them well. But I hesitated to use this general opening question of mine because I didn't think it would be of any use with this little lady. But one thing was for sure: I knew that this little lady spoke absolutely no English.
As she continued talking to me like an old friend, I forced myself to listen carefully and managed to pick up and understand a little more of what she was telling me. In a soft, raspy voice full of affection, she spoke of a Black lady from Belize who was very beautiful and very, very nice. ("Sie war eine schwarze Dame aus Belize, die wunderschön und sehr, sehr nett war."
My vanity led me to believe that she was comparing me to the beautiful, dark-skinned woman from Belize who had left a lasting impression on her in a unique way. I understood that much of her German very well.
While keeping my eyes on the road, I glanced at her briefly as she smiled and gestured with her frail hand to emphasize more of her memories of the beautiful Black woman from Belize. I also nodded and smiled to show that I was listening with interest as she shared this small part of her life with me.
Arriving at the street to the Sparkasse, I turned the corner and stopped in front of it to drop her off. I was about to unbuckle my seat belt to get out and help her out of my car, but she gently touched my arm, signaling for me to stay put. I took this gesture as a sign that she could get out on her own. I smiled to myself because I was impressed by her spunk and independence.
After unbuckling her seat belt, she opened the car door. I watched with admiration as she took her time and safely placed her cane on the curve to help lift herself up to a standing position. I was proud that she was able to do this on her own, despite her obvious frailty and age-related disabilities.
After getting out of my car and standing firmly on the curb, she tucked her cane under one arm to free both hands to open her purse. In a friendly gesture, she offered me a few Euros for taking her to the Sparkasse, which she thought was trouble for me. Of course, I didn't accept any money from her for something that cost me nothing. I politely declined, but her generosity touched me for something I wanted to do and had cost me only a few minutes of my time. Smiling, she bid me goodbye with "Auf wiedersehen" before gently closing my car door.
I waited while she took her time to tackle the first step with little effort. However, when she reached the second step, she stopped, turned around, and waved at me, a signal I took to mean that she would make it up the rest of the steps up to the Sparkasse without any problems. I smiled and waved back before finally driving away.
My thoughts then fell on the old man. I had to pass the same store on my way to work. As I did, I looked over at the front door of the store and noticed that he was gone. I hoped that someone had also taken care of his needs that day, whatever they might have been.
Driving to work, I thought about my chance encounter with the old woman. I imagined that should I live long enough to step into her shoes one day, I hope that someone would take the time to tend to my needs too.
I believe that God puts angels in our path to test our compassion on our journey through this life. I also believe that we all have the opportunity to commit "random acts of kindness."
Knowing I was a good Samaritan, I felt great tending to someone else's needs that day.
/