单选题 It was a chilly November evening in New York City, and my daughter and I were walking up Broadway. Nora noticed a guy sitting inside a cardboard box next to a newsstand. She pulled at my coat sleeve and said, "That man"s cold, Daddy. Can we take him home?"
I don"t remember my reply, but I do remember a sudden heavy feeling inside me. I had always been delighted at how much my daughter noticed in her world, whether it was birds in flight or children playing. But now she was noticing suffering and poverty. She wasn"t even four.
A few days later, I saw an article in the newspaper about volunteers who delivered meals to elderly people. The volunteers went to a nearby school on a Sunday morning, picked up a food package, and delivered it to an elderly person. I signed us up. Nora was excited about it. She could understand the importance of food, so she could easily see how valuable our job was. When Sunday came, we picked up the package and phoned the elderly person we"d been assigned. She invited us right over.
The building was depressing. When the door opened, facing us was a silver-haired woman in an old dress. She took the package and asked if we would like to come in. Nora ran inside. I reluctantly followed. Our hostess showed us some photos of her family. Nora played and laughed. I accepted a second cup of tea. When it came time to say good-bye, we three stood in the doorway and hugged. I walked home in tears.
Where else but as volunteers do you have the opportunity to do something enjoyable that"s good for yourself as well as for others? Indeed, the poverty my daughter and I helped lessen that Sunday afternoon was not the woman"s alone—it was in our lives, too. Now Nora and I regularly serve meals to needy people and collect clothes for the homeless. Yet, as I"ve watched her grow over these past four years, I still wonder—which of us has benefited more?