America, we cry today.
America has had a tough go at it lately. Pick up any newspaper (or open your news feed) and you’ll be reminded of the skyrocketing COVID-19 numbers, hospital admissions increasing, ICUs at capacity, increasing deaths, and an economy in shambles. Each week we hear how millions are losing their jobs, and how tens of millions remain unemployed. Each week more businesses close. All while Congress and the White House debate policy about whether to extend benefits and bail out our towns, schools, and states.
It’s been difficult to say the least. And when we see countries around the world control the spread of COVID, and begin reopening schools, resume baseball games, resume some form of normalcy—we can’t help but be frustrated by the contrast. This, after all, is America, the exceptional; all our lives we’ve been told that this nation has the world’s best healthcare, the best experts, the best economy. And yet here we are, America the pariah.
That sobering reality has not been more clear to me than today.
This afternoon we had some errands to run. We would be stopping by several places across Western New York so I was careful to map out our route. We would be driving north through the City, into Kenmore, across to Amherst, and then last but not least Cheektowaga before heading back home. A Saturday not all that out of the ordinary.
As we drive up Delaware we see the Pizza Hut that we used to frequent closed—the awning tattered and blowing in the wind. For most of us older millennials Pizza Hut will always have a special place in our childhood memories filled with Book It and pizza parties. Sure, it’s not the best pizza, but it’s still pizza and those were great memories. It’s hard not to think back and smile. Our visits now are about nostalgia; and perhaps some pan pizza and salad bar.
As we continued through to Amherst we drove by vacant store fronts and countless shuttered auto-service stores. My wife and I briefly discuss how much the reduced driving from COVID and working from home must be impacting auto-mechanics and service centers. Heck, we just sold our second car because we didn’t need it and wanted to save some money. It makes sense, but the corner lots which used to carry bright yellow Monro Muffler signs like an auto-beacon are now adorned with for sale/lease signs and overgrown landscaping.
We drive by the mall which is a shell of its former self. We quickly pass the shadow of a Chuck E. Cheese sign on a plaza. We see store after store, small business after small business, closed. Those fortunate to remain open have storefronts covered in handmade signs.
But even with this, there still feels a disconnect between the shuttered businesses and most Americans fortunate enough to still be working. It’s easy to compartmentalize the pain of so many fellow Americans when it’s not directly impacting you. It’s easy to go about your shopping, your business, your routine, your “new normal”.
Our final stop today was Cabela’s in Cheektowaga. As an aside, we were hoping to find pepper spray as our two dogs were attacked last night by a neighbor’s off-leash dog—the second time this has happened in less than a year. This time unfortunately we spent the night at the emergency vet. Our dogs will be fine, but suffice it to say we were looking for a solution to mitigate against this risk in the future.
As we pulled into the parking lot of Cabela’s there was a white minivan on the corner with a family of four. The two young children were playing in the grass, the mother sitting inside the van watching the kids. The father was standing closer to the road, holding a sign that read:
Please help. We have fallen on hard times and need food. Anything you can do to help is appreciated.
My heart immediately sank into my stomach. I can remember what it was like to be poor—getting food at pantries, knowing what government peanut butter and cheese tasted like, and the jealousy of friends who didn’t have to eat store-brand cereal. I can remember my mother doing the best she could to shelter my sister and I from that struggle. See we may have been poor growing up, but we were never short on love or support—never once.
In the instant my car turns into the parking lot I can imagine how difficult it is for those parents to be standing on that corner, begging for food while trying to shelter their children from this struggle.
I turn over to my wife who had been looking in a different direction: “we’re helping that family”, I remark to her. She looked at me confused for a moment before seeing the sign. She pauses, “absolutely”. As we pull our car out to leave we see the parents trying to herd their children back in the car, presumably to leave. We pull up along side their car to see the kids doing what kids do—smiling, laughing, and playing.
We put our masks on and my wife motions to the man who waives back. He grabs his mask and pulls it tightly over his face. He then reaches into his car for plastic gloves. Before he can get fully suited up his daughter notices us and runs over to the car to take the money. As she takes it, she looks up and says “thank you, and god bless your family”. Her mother makes eye contact with us and mouths thank you. I’ve seen that look before—I know what that relief looks like. I know what that feels like.
As I roll up the windows my wife and I look at each other and start crying. I grab her hand and we head back home.
This is America now. It did not have to be this way. Not at all.
