It's ragweed season around Pecan Bluff, so Benadryl is first on the grocery list. We walked down aisle 15, Eldest pushing the cart and the two little guys walking behind me holding on to my shirt. That system keeps us all together, and I like having my hands free for coupon sorting and list scratching.
We all turned when an elderly lady on a scooter rolled down the aisle behind us, ranting loudly at the store employee who was trying to help her. It was obvious she had some type of mental challenges in addition to having no teeth. But when she got even with us she stopped the scooter and she stopped her fussing. My children often have that affect on elderly people.
She pulled up closely, jabbered and smiled, and reached out to my middle son. He looked up at me quickly and I nodded to him and smiled, so he reached out and took her hand. She just beamed and talked sweet jibberish to him as he patted her wrinkled hand. He smiled understandingly, then we all patted her and said, "God bless you." She rolled up the aisle grinning, and caught up with the store employee who was bent down searching for something along the bottom shelf.
We gathered up the pills and potions that we hoped would stop our itching and sneezing, scratched them off the list, then continued our shopping. As we neared the elderly lady at the end of the aisle, I realized she was terribly agitated again, and the store clerk seemed at her wits end. The lady was fussing and waving her arms, and the clerk was snapping impatiently back to her. I looked at them and smiled, trying to encourage the young employee to have patience and show proper respect. The clerk didn't notice me at all, but the lady did.
She reached her arms out to me and looked imploringly in my eyes. She sputtered some frustrated jibberish that I didn't understand. I stepped over close to her, bent down, and patted her hand to calm her.
"Can I help you find something, Ma'am?" I asked. Here in the south, it's still a compliment to be called Ma'am. I think the world would be better if everyone taught their kids to say it. But that's another post.
"Oil. Oil! You know...ov oil. You know. For skin. For scars. You need.... for skin. Ov oil!" she said. The frustrated clerk was still squatting there holding out a variety of bottles containing everything from castor oil to baby oil. She shrugged her shoulders at me. I listened carefully again and then it dawned on me.
"Olive oil! She needs olive oil!" I said, gleeful that I'd figured it out. The elderly lady smiled hugely, slapped her knee and said, "Yes! Yes! Fank you. Fank you. Fank you."
"Can you please take her to the baking aisle to get some olive oil?" I asked the employee, "or would you like me to take her?" The employee looked at me, rolled her eyes, then shrugged and sauntered off to finish the task half-heartedly. I hugged the elderly lady and she thanked me some more, patting my hand and squeezing my arm.
After she wheeled away, I walked back to the kids where they waited.
"Bless her heart," I said under my breath as we started up the next aisle. Then I thought how sad it was that that young employee hadn't been taught to show proper respect and patience to her elders. What a shame.
I turned to the kids, "I'm so thankful you kids care about people and that you respect your elders. Your kindness brought glory to God just now."
Eldest looked at me sideways.
"How come people always ask us for help?" she quizzed.
I thought about it a moment. She was right. It happens every time we are in the store. "I'm not sure," I said. "But I'm so thankful God keeps giving us great chances to practice!"