Greetings from deep south Mississippi, Sunday, February 22, 2009.

Yesterday I was at Walmart waiting in line at the deli when an elderly man in a handicapped cart rolled by in the aisle nearby. He was accompanied by a middle aged woman. She put her hand on his shoulder and said "Wait a minute daddy, I forgot something," and left. He stopped and folded his hands in his lap.

The old man looked as dessicated as a corn husk; so dry and shrunken, he looked as if he'd rustle if you touched him. He wore a pair of overalls that had become too big for him; they had been laundered so many times over the years the denim had faded to a pale whitish blue. Every seam was frayed, the knees worn white. Underneath, he wore an ancient flannel shirt, worn to threads at the elbows.

His shoes, equally as worn, had a hole cut out over a bunion on his toes--My own dad used to do that. He sat with skinny bowed back, as if the weight of years and worries had gradually pressed him down until he was unresisting and accepting of whatever fate lay in store. His hands were those of a farmer, gnarly and callused. Meek and accepting, he waited for his daughter.

I was born and raised poorer than a churchmouse with people like him and worked in home health for years and saw people like him every day. Men who had no education to speak of, who worked a piece of ground with a mule and plow to raise a garden and a corn patch. His children had gone barefoot; they got one pair of shoes in the fall to wear to school; he never had dental care because it was an unheard of luxury; he had never had a new car in his life. I knew all this right away, because I am familiar with it.

What broke my heart was that in his basket he had two packs of dried beans--one lima, one pinto, and a small bag of flour and a small bag of cornmeal. No meat, fruits or vegetables, "luxury " items. I had the impulse to go over and ask if there was something he would like--not need, but like, say a bag of oranges or a can of coffee, something he couldn't afford. But the moment passed when his daughter came back with a bag of rice, and they left. The rest of the month he would be eating beans and cornbread and rice.

It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair that there is hunger and want and need in America, especially for people like him who don't think they deserve any better. And I shouldn't have asked, I should just have gone and gotten the items I thought he'd like, and paid for them and put them in his basket. My conscience is bothering me.

susil