Wherever you look, kindness is just around the corner

BEVERLY BECKHAM

Commuters who live west of Boston wait to get on the train to South Station.MATTHEW HEALEY FOR THE BOSTON GLOBE

It is Saturday, Oct. 22 at 9:15 a.m., and there is not a cloud in the sky.

I am driving my granddaughter, Lucy, from Canton to Boston to her adaptive ballet class when I notice him, a man in a wheelchair making his way down Mass. Ave.

I am heading north and he is heading south, on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street inching himself along. I see him even before I stop for a traffic light, his bright red jacket and white hat standouts against the backdrop of dull, brick buildings. The traffic light gives me time to more than just glance at this man. It gives me time to watch him.

I see that he doesn’t sit straight and tall in his chair, that he isn’t a young guy sporting tattoos on his toned and formidable arms. He is old and he is slumped, his pale face under his white cap slumped too, like a balloon deflated. There are IV poles attached to his chair, no IVs, just the poles catching the morning light. I watch as the poles and the wheelchair and the man crawl along, the man’s arms, which propel him, deflated, too.

And then the light turns green and I drive on. But I think about this man. And what I think is that I am on a street that is always on the news. Always getting bad press. Always associated with crime. But look. See? No one is hassling this man. No one is beating him up and stealing his white hat or his red jacket or his IV-equipped wheelchair. No group of someones is surrounding him and threatening him.

And, see? At the next light there’s a woman holding a little girl’s hand. They’re crossing the street. They are serious as they cross, all business, but on the sidewalk on the other side the child looks up at the woman and grins.

Two guys are drinking to-gos, walking and talking and laughing. There’s a delivery man on a bike. There’s a bus, letting people off, letting people on. A car horn beeps. A man pushes a baby in a carriage. Two women jog in rhythm. It’s like Sesame Street. Not like the news.

And I think, not for the first time, that we get too much news. And that it’s all bad all of the time, in print, on TV, on our phones, on the radio, and it’s killing us slowly, killing our trust and our joy and our spirits. Killing our souls.

Look. See? Everywhere. Every day. People at crowded restaurants, everyone eating, laughing, having a good time. Look. See? People waiting at bus stops. Queuing up. Boarding. Sitting down. Look. See? Young people waiting in line to get into a club. The line is long. It goes around the corner. But no one is pushing. No one is cutting in. No one is shouting.

I take the commuter rail into Boston. I’ve taken the train or the bus or driven into the city all of my very long life. And what I always hear from people who don’t go into the city is, it’s so dangerous.

Steps are dangerous. People fall down them every day. Falling down steps is the second leading cause of accidental injury in the US. (Car accidents are the first.) But we are not subjected day in and day out to horrendous tales of steps and how they’ve ruined people’s lives. We don’t wake up to headlines that scream “Woman, 33, seriously injured after falling down stairs.” We are not told over and over, every day of our lives, of the countless injuries all over the country and all over the world due to steps.

Yes, we have to know about shootings and stabbings and rapes and robberies and murders and wars and social injustices. But this world is not all shootings and stabbings and rapes and robberies and murders and wars and social injustices.

Look at what is right. Raise your hand if you didn’t get robbed yesterday. If no one broke into your home. If no one stole your car. If no one held you at gunpoint.

Raise your hand if instead someone helped you. Let you merge on the highway. Stepped aside to give you room to board the bus. Held a door.

About a month ago, a girl no older than 12 gave a small package of cookies to my granddaughter, Lucy. Lucy and I were out walking. We had seen this girl and her friend coming out of the corner store the day before. All of us had said hi and smiled.

The next day we saw the girls again, Samantha and Maggie, and Samantha gave Lucy a pack of cookies.

The world is a dangerous place, yes. But the world is also a place full of unexpected kindnesses and unpublicized, quiet love.

Beverly Beckham’s column appears every two weeks. She can be reached at bev@beverlybeckham.com.