Help Needed
He came out of nowhere, this long, lanky kid with unkempt curls held back by a thin, elastic band like soccer players wear. “How can I help?” he asked, as my lostness must have been plastered like a billboard on my face.
“Panko breadcrumbs?” I asked, leaving a verbal ellipsis on the end.
“Aisle four,” he immediately responded while pointing, “about halfway down on your left. Just below eye level.” Then he smiled, “Well, maybe right at eye level for you.”
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I found them there precisely where he told me they would be, wedged in the middle of the flour and the oats. It would have taken me half a day to find them on my own.
In between the time I entered the store and checked out with my necessities, the young man with disheveled hair and an athlete’s stride had helped an elderly lady who couldn’t reach the olives, an associate stocking shelves, a confused middle-aged man trying to maneuver the self-check-out line, and a mother balancing two toddlers and a basket full of food. And that’s just what I could see from wherever I happened to be at the time. Who knows how much assistance he provided when out of my line of sight.
The way finder wearing a red apron was like a human Swiss Army knife— poised and always ready to aid whoever was in need. And everything about him said he lived for it. His face lit up like a Christmas tree when he was able to lend a hand. At first glance he looked to be an ordinary teen who would soon grow tall enough to fit his feet, but upon closer observation, he seemed more like a superhero whose power was a sixth sense for identifying need. The kind that made him a magnet for adding value everywhere he turned.
I once heard a legendary basketball coach say, “Great defenses aren’t great because they’re good at helping. They’re great because they’re good at never needing help.” And while I understand what he was getting at, I never coached a team who could get good at that. It was our mission—always—to guard our yard and not require assistance from a teammate to help us do our jobs. But that was an impossible ask across the board. So getting better and better at helping was paramount. And becoming proficient at helping whoever helped in the first place was the way we learned we could win.
And it ultimately stitched us together. We found great honor in being helpers. What a privilege it is to be able to be what another needs.
We take it for granted sometimes though, this capacity we have to make the road a little smoother for those we are traveling with or simply shoulder brush along the way. We either move with our eyes and ears tuned to other channels or we shrug off the signs. Withholding is an easy default when we don’t hear anybody ask. But everybody is in need of something. We wear an invisible list of what we’re missing on a flag across our chests, though mostly we’re so busy trying to keep it covered that we don’t notice others’ similar attire.
My man playing traffic cop just beyond the frozen foods has found a way, however, to step across the divide. And what he has discovered there, quite clearly, is the privilege my players felt when they had a chance to rotate on defense and play a role in saving the day.
Helping others fills up holes you don’t even know you have.
The sign in the front of the grocery store window reads, “Help Wanted,” but as I drove away, I wondered if it might behoove the owners to rephrase it as a need. What we desire and what we’re thirsting for are often two entirely different things. One comes shrink-wrapped in bravado. The other doesn’t come with packaging of any kind, not even a layer of skin. The former is safer than the latter. But the latter is how both parties end up getting what they have to have .
The key ingredient for fried zucchini chips was exactly where Superman said. And he, it seemed, was exactly where I and a store full of shoppers on a random Thursday in the middle of the afternoon needed him to be. Right place, right time? Maybe. Or maybe circumstances present themselves to those with open eyes.
It would be hard for the store owner to pay this unsolicited giver what he’s worth. Helping doesn’t come with a bar code you can scan for value. Nor is it easy to teach, alongside when to throw out the fruit or re-boot the cash register when it stalls. It’s a choice. A decision to try to make things better if you can. And those who make it on the regular are worth their weight in gold.