Бабушка

With the holiday season upon us, I took the time this past week to put up my tree. Nearly all my old ornaments were shattered when I took them out of storage, so I decided to replace them this year with sturdier ornaments—the kind that could withstand being poorly packaged for 11 months at a time. I found these solid wood nutcracker ornaments at Rite-Aid, only the store by my house only had a few of them, so I called all the other stores in the valley and only one of twelve had any. So Saturday morning I set out to drive downtown to pick them up.

“It’s just that everyone’s acting all cruboppled.”

As I rushed down to the store I was listening to Christmas music (naturally) and this cheesy song about some guy who saw a kid who wanted to buy his dying mom a pair of shoes but he couldn’t afford them came on the radio. Sure it’s got a good message and everything, but it was too sappy for me to take seriously and I didn’t have the patience for a sappy song, so I popped in a CD instead.

When I got to the store I just jumped right into line—I didn’t have any items in my hand because my ornaments were being held for me behind the counter. In front of me stood a tiny little Бабушка (bab-oosh-ka). Now, I don’t speak Russian, and this is pretty much the only word I know (it means grandmother), but it’s the word that describes this lady perfectly. She was only about five feet tall, but sturdy as a fire hydrant. She had a scarf tied around her head and over her ears so that she looked like the old lady in that drawing of the optical illusion where, depending on how you look at it, you can either see a pretty young lady or a wrinkly old woman. “He counted pennies for what seemed like years.Then the cashier said, ‘Son, there's not enough here.’He searched his pockets frantically,Then he turned and he looked at me…”

I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on, I just know it was taking for ever. Turns out, the babooshka was trying to buy a couple of boxes of chocolates and she didn’t seem to have enough money. I can still remember what was going on in my head while I watched the cashier tell her that she only had enough for the chocolate covered cherries and that she’d need two more dollars for the other chocolates:

“Man, I should have gotten in the other line, it’s going faster… Geez, I hate it when my money clip just floats around in my pocket, I really need to spend these two bucks, they’re starting to bug me… these ornaments will cost more than two bucks, so maybe some other time… hmm, that old lady only has enough for one or the other… gross, she picked the chocolate covered cherries! I hate those things… she’s probably getting them for her grandkids, boy are they going to hate having to eat THOSE to show their appreciation! Oh, look, she doesn’t understand that she doesn’t have enough… too bad she’s Russian and not Mexican, because if she spoke Spanish I could probably do something to help her…”

“I do not make myself merry at Christmas…”
“That certainly IS true.”
“…And I cannot afford to make idle people merry.”
“That is certainly NOT true.”

Not ONCE did it occur to me that I could help out the old babooshka. There she was counting her pennies frustrated that the cashier wouldn’t allow the exchange. And there was the cashier tucking away the other chocolates, frustrated that the old babooshka wouldn’t stop persisting that she needed them. And there I was completely oblivious to the fact that the very same two dollars that were bothering me from inside my pocket would have been exactly enough to help her out.

“For a father who wouldn’t save you on the ship, Jack?
A father who COULDN’T save you, Jack.”
“No, he WOULDN’T.
I mean, he was there… and we were there… but he wouldn’t try.”

Finally, she left with her chocolate covered cherries and I got my ornaments and was on my way. A block south of the store I was stopped by a train at the railroad crossing. It was a pretty long train. Well, long enough that while I was waiting there, it finally occurred to me how stupid and selfish I had been and it honestly hurt my heart to think about that poor little lady, who just wanted to buy an assortment of chocolates for her grandkids, it was in my power to help her, and I didn’t even try.

“He was a tight fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, clutching, covetous old sinner.”

Guilt is a funny thing. Sometimes you ought to feel it and you don’t and other times you’d rather not but you’re consumed by it. This was one of those all-consuming guilts. When you experience guilt like that you wish you could go back in time and stop yourself from making the mistake. I often feel that way when the guilt is so overwhelming that it is clearly disproportionate to the crime and the reason you wish you could change what you’d done, isn’t because you wish you hadn’t done it, but simply because you can’t endure the pain caused from the guilt of having done it.

“Max, help me! I’m FEELING!”
“And what happened next, well in Whoville they say that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.”

This was one of those all-consuming guilts, and I knew the only way I could alleviate my shame would be to go back and try to do what I had neglected before. I figured the babooshka would be long gone by now, but no amount of rationalization healed my hurting—I had to at least see if there was anything I could do. So I turned around and headed back to the store.

The babooshka was so old and so slow, that even after I had been waiting for the train for several minutes, she was just now reaching the sidewalk on the other side of the parking lot. I took note of the direction she was heading and judged by her lethargic pace that I had plenty of time to run in, buy her chocolates and run out to give them to her before she got to her home or wherever she was headed.

I bought the chocolates; they were those golden Ferrero Rocher candies. And hustled back to my car peeling out in the same direction of where I last saw her. She was no where in sight. I drove around for about half an hour up and down just about every side street within the zip code, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Every five minutes or so I would think, “well, she’s not here, let’s go home,” but my conscience (still sore with shame) convinced me to look for “just five more minutes”.

“Santa, hold on. Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Yeah, but make it quick, Santa’s got a little get together he’s late for.”
“Okay. I know you’re not the real Santa Claus.”
“What makes you say that? Er, just out of curiosity.”
“Look, I’m old enough to know how it works…

but I also know that you work for him.”

I think I understand why I felt so guilty, let me explain it this way—I believe in Santa Claus, even though I know he depends on my parents to deliver his toys to me. Why do I believe in him? Because I’ve experienced 24 christmases in my lifetime and he’s never let me down once. Would I still believe in him if he all-of-a-sudden let me down? Maybe not, who knows—I doubt it will ever happen, because I know my parents are willing to do their part to perpetuate my belief.

“Sometimes the Lord answers our prayers through other people.”

On the same note, I believe in God, even though I know he often depends on other people to deliver his love to us. I can’t help but think, maybe that sturdy, little old babooshka was praying for help to get something nice for her grandkids, and the Lord was trying to answer her prayers through me, but I wouldn’t listen. I’d hate to be the reason she stops believing.

I’ve still got those Ferrero Rocher chocolates under my tree. There they will stay, as a haunting reminder of the shame of selfishness. And not only a reminder against selfishness, but a reminder of the importance to always keep an eye peeled for the opportunity to help. Especially at this time of year, I ought to be looking for chances to help others who are down and could use a reminder that they’ve got a Father in Heaven who’s watching out for them. If something as simple as a friendly smile, a listening ear, or a two dollar box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates is enough to convey that message, then I hope that from now on I would be willing to give such a gift any time of the year.