on not helping.
This morning, I did not help. I looked at him long and hard, lingered for a moment, and kept going.
I didn't see him right away. I exited the blue line train at Government Center, where I transfer to the green line. There was a crowd of people backed up on one side of the staircase, and the clog seemed to be halfway up the stairs. Slowly the people moved to the left and weaved between the people coming down the stairs to make their way up. I followed them until I saw the hold-up.
He looked to be somewhere between the ages of my parents and grandparents, and probably looked much older than he actually is. He was at a dead standstill, or so I thought, until I paused and noticed that he was moving up the stairs, one at a time, spending 3-5 seconds on each stair before climbing the next. His right hand clutched the railing as he leaned into one step, then his weight shifted almost entirely to the left, where he gripped a rubber-bottomed cane. A reusable grocery bag was slung over his left forearm, sagging under the weight of what he was carrying upstairs, swaying into his leg with each step up the stairs.
Anyone could see he needed help, but everyone raced up the stairs, trying to catch the next train that was just pulling into the station. I made three judgments:
1) These people are terrible. Dirty, rotten, city-rats, why can't you slow down for two minutes to help an elderly man up the stairs? He probably risked his life in the Great War, and has to ride the trains because he's too feeble to drive and has been abandoned by his family. Somebody help this man!
2) I will help this man!
3) This man doesn't want my help. Leave him be. Let him go up the stairs as slowly and painfully as he needs to, if it takes him all morning. Let him know that he accomplished this much, that he's not dependent yet, that his old bones and old heart are still working and he intends to use them.
I didn't help. I shared one step with him for a few seconds before realizing that he was choosing this way. He chose to carry the bag with him, he chose to take a mode of transportation that required transferring, and, most sobering, he chose to take the stairs.
Not all MBTA stations are handicap-accessible yet, and Government Center does not yet have elevators. But there are, only a short distance from the stairs, escalators. This man had no map, no camera, no fanny-pack, and no exhilarated smile after riding a Boston train - to be clear, he's from around here. I obviously do not know his history, or his present story - where he was going, why he took the train. But I can reasonably guess that he knew how to ride the trains, where to transfer, where the stairs are. He knew how to position the grocery bag on his arm, on the cane, on the stair. He had done this before.
It occurred to me that even if people need help, sometimes it's best to let them be. There is, of course, a difference between those who need help and deny it, or don't realize it, or are in danger of hurting themselves, and those who are just struggling a little but can make it. The first group of people should usually be helped, even if they don't want it; the second might truly prefer to forge through on their own. The reasons are varied: pride, sense of accomplishment, fear of belittlement, the sense of inconvenience to someone else, and perhaps an overwhelming frustration with people constantly trying to help, as if you were a child.
I know some of these reasons are very real - and affecting - because I have gone through them with my grandparents. They refuse help on almost every level - shopping, driving, cleaning up. They love my company, they appreciate my willingness to be involved, but they are adamant that they can take care of themselves. Even if it takes a cane, or a handicap placard in the car, or a few extra minutes going up and down stairs - they feel stronger having done it themselves.
There will come a day when I (and the rest of my family) will have to insist on helping, for safety's sake. But for today, for the man at Government Center, for my grandparents, I will fight the urge to take over, and patiently wait until they make it to the top.