Taking candy from a stranger

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 16/08/2021 (1655 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

A Facebook memory of a trip to beautiful British Columbia popped up on my timeline a few months ago.

My sister Christina was heading to the West Coast for an event in 2017 and decided to extend her stay to enjoy a vacation with me and my daughter, who had tagged along.

We spent the first part of the week visiting Riel’s grandparents on Salt Spring Island and the other part in Vancouver, exploring the city and visiting our Aunt Rose. The day we arrived in Vancouver, we got off the sky train in downtown Vancouver after a 90-minute ferry ride from Victoria. It was a sunny afternoon in the middle of the week. The city moved fast around us — faster than I was used to. The sidewalks were bursting with people, the streets lined with bumper-to-bumper traffic, and the skyline of skyscrapers with a backdrop of mountains was enough to take anyone’s breath away.

This wasn’t my first time in Vancouver. I’ve been there a handful of times in my life, and it has always been thrilling to be swallowed up by the big, bustling city.

We walked briskly down the street lugging our suitcases and purses, a toddler who had missed her nap and two very overstuffed carry-on bags. It was a little after noon, and Riel, who was 2 at the time, was getting fussy. She was teetering on the brink of a tantrum when we foolishly popped into London Drugs on Granville Street, just a few blocks from our hotel, to grab a couple of things. I had bet that if we shopped quickly enough, we could vanquish an upset. It was, of course, a gamble I lost. As we were about to check out, my daughter had had enough, and she made sure everyone knew. She dropped to the floor kicking and screaming in a way I can only describe as epic. The poor baby was tired, out of her routine and mad as hell.

I scooped her up as she flailed and then stiffened in my arms, screaming bloody murder as my sister paid for whatever it was we went in for. I don’t even know how she did it, but my sister managed to lug all of our stuff out of the store while I balanced the feisty, screaming tornado of a child in my arms.

As we crossed the street, I saw a woman sitting against a light standard asking people for change. She was sitting on a coat and had a backpack beside her. Most of the people walking by ignored her, as though she was invisible. She sat there on a street swarming with people, and most of them didn’t acknowledge her existence.

She said something to us as we walked by, but I couldn’t hear her over my daughter’s wails. In the moment, I was annoyed. Couldn’t she see I was busy? I literally had my hands full, trying not to drop my tantruming kid. What could this stranger possibly want to talk to me about while I was in the middle of this chaos? Some nerve!

I turned to her with a scowl on my face only to see her outstretched arm, offering me a mini-Twix bar.

“Maybe your little girl would be happy with this?” she said.

I was dumbfounded. My agitation melted away, replaced by wonder and guilt.

I declined the offer at first, thinking I wouldn’t for a second consider giving my kid candy from a stranger. A second later, I changed my mind about accepting her kind gesture, taking it from her outstretched arm and stuffing it in my pocket.

I was so touched. Mere moments before this interaction, the woman was asking people hurriedly moving around the downtown for help and being ignored by most of them. Yet when she saw us, she thought she could help us and gave us what she could, offering a little reprieve from our momentary hard time.

“Thank you,” I said.

“You’re welcome.”

I started to walk away. By this time, Riel had become distracted by my interaction with the woman and was calming down. Christina and I looked at each other in disbelief. This was such a tiny but huge gesture.

We scrounged up the little bit of money we had — mostly change — and gave it to her.

“Thank you for being so kind to us.”

I still think about that woman, her gesture, and the person I was before and after it. I learned a lot that day.

shelley.cook@freepress.mb.ca

Twitter: @ShelleyAcook