K-Mart Carts
Yesterday, while coming out of K-Mart, I saw a young African American man collecting stray carts and also the carts that had been put back into the “cart return.” I’ve always been one who returned my cart to the cart return. I worked at a grocery store as a teenager and know how rough it can be having to walk all over the place to retrieve them.
Anyway, after I finished stuffing my items into the trunk, I pushed the cart over to him and handed it to him. He looked me directly in the eyes and said, “Thanks, man.” I said nothing in reply.
It was not the way that he said “Thanks, man” that left me speechless. It was the look. His look said more than his words, and my silence said more than any language could have conveyed. That look said more than thanks. It was a look of, “So, you know my plight. You know my struggle. Thank you for the respect.”
For that moment, I understood that young man, much as I wished someone had understood me a few years ago. If I had said, “You’re welcome,” it would have been meaningless. I had not actually done anything for him. All I did was give him the respect that he always deserves as a man, and yet so many of us rarely receive.
