Charity Starts at Home

I'm guessing our neighborhood is no different than the suburbs in most big cities. Life is typically a little easier than if we lived in the city proper. Long tree-lined streets, neighbors walking dogs, and "I'm raising money for xyz charity" kids door knocking on the door.

The routine is always the same. The doorbell bell rings. The dogs go crazy. Even poor Miles who can barely walk raises from his deep slumber, coughs out a few feeble barks, stumbles to his feet, barks a few more times and then lays back down. At the door is a cleanly dressed kid, usually with some kind of facial piercing, holding their credentials ready to give their spiel.

I've been in this house for eight years so I've had a lot of these kids come to the door. At least the kids with the big blue tubs and overpriced candy and crap don't work this neighborhood.

Years ago I would have listened to the entire presentation, looked at the offerings and, maybe subscribed to a magazine out of some kind of guilt. "Poor kid is trying to raise money to earn points for a college scholarship."

Was I naive for believing I would actually get the magazine I subscribed to? Maybe. Over the years I grew skeptical.

Late last year a kid came to the door with a compelling story that not only told of his efforts to improve himself but also included a bunch of factually accurate historical information about the city. I know it is factual because I was there for some of the history. His item was an extension to our newspaper subscription. He had forms that looked official with LA Times logo, lots of places to write names and check boxes. Maybe I got suckered. Possibly. Probably.

This morning's solicitor was an attractive young black girl. She was sweet and polite, with a pierced nose, a story about foster care and those same LA Times forms.

As soon as I saw the form I said,' No, thank you. I won't be giving you a donation today." She continued her script, trying to overcome my objections. I tried to explain that the last guy that came to the door with those forms took me for $20.00 and I wasn't going to donate anything else.

She didn't understand who this "last guy" was. Again, I tried to explain but was beginning to get frustrated. She was not understanding my story.

I went back to the "No, thank you. I won't be giving you anything today."

Then she turned the tables and said I was rude to her. Maybe I was. Maybe she was actually collecting for a charity. All of those maybes but it is hard to know what to believe anymore.

When I was a kid we would go door to door selling big chocolate bars as we tried to raise money for school, little league baseball, the YMCA... whatever. It was all very up and up. I never got the impression that someone felt like I was trying to cheat them.

Now, everyone with a story is scamming something. Is this part of the desensitization that comes with living in an overgrown city, even if we're in the suburbs? Do organized gangs of pee-wee con-boys and con-girls periodically descend on neighborhoods, grift a few hundred bucks from those that still have an ounce of trust left in them?

She concludes her time with me by uttering a less-than-sincere "God bless you" that was intended more as a dagger in my heart than words of comfort. She was trying to add more to it when I closed the door.

I walked away feeling terrible. I knew I was short with her. I knew I didn't trust her. She called me rude. I'm the guy that let's everyone merge in when out on the rode because life is too short to be a dick.

Where is that line between standing up for yourself and saying "No" and being an asshole.

I will keep searching for it.