Our first fundraiser we do as a group is to go to Giant Eagle with a can and a sign advertising our cause in hope of collecting peoples’ spare change. We have a nice table set up in the entrance with a poster on the right, three cans, and a small picture album on the left. Two other girls and I start off the day standing behind the table waiting for the customers to start rolling in. It isn’t long until the first person walks in. I don’t think they see us at first so I try to greet them, “Good morning, if you have any spare change on your way out we would appreciate your support in traveling to Belize for a mission trip.” They give a quick glance with a painfully fake smile and pick up their pace to make a quick getaway. Failure stings deep and quickly, but I find comfort that there will be many more opportunities.
The next customer approaches and he sees us as soon as the doors open. I can practically hear his thoughts during those few steps between the door and our table. “Another one of these groups? Just great. All I want to do is go buy what I need and leave. I’m sure they are doing this for a good cause, but what difference will my change really make? This is a time when I really wish I could turn invisible and sneak past. Ah… what am I supposed to do?” There are about three steps between us now so I give it another try, “Good morn,” and before I can even get out two words he reaches for his cell phone faster than a cowboy in an old western reaches for gun during a really intense draw. He pretends someone just called at the perfect moment and has a conversation with no one. I am shot down before I even had a chance to realize what was happening. So, it is eight in the morning and I’m standing and failing at getting even a couple pennies. I really wish I would have been thinking a little clearer when I woke up this morning.
My hopes are that third time is the charm. This time, two people enter at the same time. Almost simultaneously all three of us greet them, “Good morning.” They actually take notice to the sign. We are surprised by their interest and were even asked a couple questions about what we would be doing. They continue on their way and promise to stop and donate on their way out. Our morning continues, each of us take our turn with many more “Good morning” and “Excuse me’s.” We meet a mix of people, some run past, most give a few coins, some give a few dollars, and a few give bigger bills. Don’t get too excited though, by big I do mean fives, tens, or twenties.
Out of all those people that I spoke with on that day, one stuck out in my mind. I did not notice when he went in, but on his way out he was one of the fast walkers with eyes straight forward. He was an older man so I was sure to speak up, “Excuse me sir, would you happen to have any spare change?” He heard me and turned to look, but it seemed to be more of an instinctive turn that he regretted before he even finished turning.
“Spare change eh? What for?” he asked as he pulled out his wallet.
“We our going on a mission trip in Belize where we will be tutoring children and doing some kind of a construction project.”He has a look on his face that I really have no idea what it means as he searches his wallet for a couple ones. So I try to fill the awkward silence in this moment, “We have a photo album right here if you would care to see a couple pictures of previous trips to this area.”
He hands me two ones and looks down at the album I pushed towards him. He doesn’t flip through it, but only takes a minute to look at the page it is opened to. It is a picture of one girl with about ten seven year old girls in uniform. His eyes return to mine and says, “There sure are a lot of little Obama’s in that picture. You girls better stay safe.” And just like that he is gone and on his way.
The other girls’ heads snap over in my direction in shock of what was said. Nobody is speaking and I feel slightly uncomfortable so I let out a small giggle. “He is just older and probably doesn’t see many black people.” I know that they aren’t convinced because I didn’t even convince myself. I’m just shocked that he said it. I don’t know for sure if he is prejudice or if that was just a new way for his generation to identify African Americans. I suppose that it is less offensive than other names he could have used. It makes me wonder about what he has been through in his lifetime.
That man was gone and chances were that I would never again see him, except he would forever linger in my memories. This man had seem like any ordinary person, and I never would have guessed he would call a few students “little Obama’s.” I guess you never really know what a picture can bring to people’s minds.
