Reformed Good
Samaritan
Copyright 2006 by Suzy Wurtz
Hi. My name is Suzy, and I’m a
dinosaur. No, not the small brained, large, prehistoric reptile. I mean a
dinosaur as in one who is hopelessly out-of-date with current customs.
My daughter and I attended a recent high school one-act play
competition at a school about 30 miles from us. We were running late and didn’t
want to miss the first entry, so we jumped out of the car in the parking lot and
quickened our pace toward the building.
“Are those lights on?” I asked, glancing at the black
pick-up truck next to us. As my daughter kept her stride, I stopped and headed
to the driver’s door.
“What are you doing?” my 15-year-old asked irritably.
”I’m going to shut off his lights for him,” I replied.
”Don’t!” she commanded. When I kept walking toward the
truck, she added, “The door’s probably locked.”
“I’ll check.”
”Mom! DON”T!” she screeched.
I dropped my quest, and we argued on the way into the
building. She said that someone would think I was breaking into the car. I
lectured her on the brotherhood of drivers, personal responsibility, and doing
good deeds in general. She tried to stay fifteen paces ahead of me as I was
lecturing.
The show was ready to start, so we dashed into the
auditorium. By the time the first play finished, I’d forgotten about the
truck. But when I went out at lunch, I saw that, indeed, the truck’s battery
was dead and another vehicle was jump-starting it. I felt guilty for passing up
my opportunity to do small good deed.
When told of the dead battery, my child adamantly stuck to
her opinion of no intervention. I was appalled. I turned to an adult and two
other high schoolers and asked them if they would have tried to turn off the
truck’s lights. To my surprise, all three quickly said “no.” And I was
surprised because I’ve been turning off other’s car lights for thirty-five years
now, mostly in parking lots at work, school, or shopping centers. I do it
because I have left my own lights on many times and drained the battery. It
seemed like the “right thing to do” to save another person from a similar
hassle. And it only took seconds.
So I embarked on an informal, unscientific poll of friends
and family. Of seventeen people, chosen because they are salt-of-the earth
types likely to do good deeds, five of them said they had never entered a
stranger’s car to help with lights, though some had indeed contacted neighbors
or left a license plate number at a restaurant. The other dozen stories varied
from those who had helped out once or twice to a few souls like me who still
check to see if the driver’s door is unlocked. Most of these friends said they
“used to do it” in the old days, but even the current do-gooders are now wary.
The majority in both groups told me that a) many cars now
have lights that turn off by themselves after a reasonable period of time, b)
many cars now have sensitive car alarms that would sound if you tried a locked
door handle, c) sometimes there are large dogs in cars, d) one could get
arrested or shot, and e) maybe this wasn’t such a good activity to teach my
teen.
So daughter, dear, I stand corrected. I’m out of touch. I
told you that any decent person would do the right thing and check to see if she
could turn off car lights for a fellow human being. But some decent and wise
people have told me that in the 21st century, that might not be such
a good idea any more.
It looks like it’s time for me to change old habits. In the
future, when I see a car with its lights on, I’ll walk on by.
Unless, of course, it my daughter’s. I’m sure she’d allow
the exception then.
END
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