We could be heroes.

 One of Doodle's personal heroes.  Statue Mime Patrick Toney

In the hyper acid climate that seems to be circulating everywhere right now I keep getting stuck in tiny ordinary things that really made a difference for me, or for someone I love.  Things that probably meant nothing to the person who made them happen.  But you just never know when doing something small and ordinary will change someone's perspective, maybe make their day easier or relieve some stress. Once Doodle was headed to a much anticipated birthday party one of the first of his school friends.  I had a late rehearsal that meant he would be a late arrival. The Mom in charge offered to hold off on dinner and the much anticipated first video games until he could arrive.  It was probably nothing more than a quick thought on her part but it made a world of difference to Doodle and it made me feel less Mama guilt for making him late.  That one little gesture has stayed with me for years now.

Today I was at the grocery store, trying to get in and out.  This particular store is one I don't like much, it is cramped and poorly stocked. But there I was  at the self checkout.  There was a Dad with three little kids in one of those impossible race car carts behind me.  He was impatiently drumming his fingers on the cart waiting for me to finish.  Glaring in my general direction.  I bagged my groceries and tried to move out of the way.  This particular store does not leave enough room for carts to pass through the self check if there are people using all of the machines. Today all of the machines were in use, there was not where for me to go.  Directly in front of me was an older than me Japanese woman.  She was holding the cart for someone who was checking out.  I really thought about matching the annoyance level of the man behind me.  But I didn't. I said "Excuse me"  once. I waited. The man behind me shoved his race car cart closer nearly hitting my ankles.  The Japanese woman turned and shifted her cart off to the side.  I caught her eye, smiled and said "Thank you".  As I was walking away I heard her stumble through heavily accented and halting English. " Welcome."     And she smiled back.   I don't know why this stuck me so.  She clearly didn't understand at first, but when she did, she moved and smiled and heroically responded with what she could, in a language that wasn't her own.  It worked for me ( and probably for impatient Dad behind me, but I didn't stick around to look.)  I don't know why I didn't match the level of grumpy emanating from the man with the race car cart, that would have been more keeping in character for me. Maybe I am just so tired of the vile and horrible things being said everywhere that I just couldn't do it. Maybe I am mellowing with age.

Sometimes I wonder if the people in charge, the ones who get all the press, ever notice these things. Ever do these things.  I can't help think that if they were more aware of all the tangled lives that depend on the ordinary kindness of friends and strangers that they might make less inflammatory speeches.  But maybe pigs fly too. I don't think that there are going to be any heroic characters riding in to save us from the awful mess that we have made for ourselves.  I think it has to be us.  Ordinary heroes doing ordinary things to remind ourselves that behind the keyboards, and Tweets and Instagram posts, there are real people.  Some of them have not done very much to inspire my compassion.  Some of them are so downright vile that I think it might not be too much to ask for them to just vanish into dust.  But maybe, no one ever offered to hold dinner for them, or gave up the seat on the crowded bus, or returned to lost toy, or paid the overdue library fine, or tried to meet them with kindness. Maybe it's been a really long time since anyone really saw them.  Maybe if some ordinary hero  stepped in; maybe they'd have a moments hesitation before launching a fresh attack from the safety of their screens.  It is easier to hate when you feel alone.  

I know that I am more vulnerable to the nasties when I feel alone.  It's no secret that I am the first person to be annoyed by some slight, or some bonehead move. The first to point out a truly stupid statement. But when I think back on the army of ordinary heroes who fed and drove and carried my family when I couldn't, or the legion of preschool parents who took heroic measures to keep Doodle safe and let him lead a normal life, or the woman at the store;  I think that is our way out.  I think those are our heroes.  They're us. Everyday.