The Ethiopian children peered out at us as I sat watching television with my grandmother. We rarely did that. I could count the number on one hand probably. My memories are more of ladylike lunches out, walks on the beach & girl-time as we did errands.
I was freshly back from Africa and visiting her and my grandfather who was out doing grandfatherly stuff. As the children looked out at us, my grandmother looked at me. “What do you think when you see their suffering?” she asked.
“I want to get up and go over there to help,” I answered in measured tones.
“I thought so,” she replied. And after a pause, “I just want to change the channel.”
“That’s because you don’t know how to help,” I said.
“I hope that’s why,” She sighed.
I was freshly back from Africa and visiting her and my grandfather who was out doing grandfatherly stuff. As the children looked out at us, my grandmother looked at me. “What do you think when you see their suffering?” she asked.
“I want to get up and go over there to help,” I answered in measured tones.
“I thought so,” she replied. And after a pause, “I just want to change the channel.”
“That’s because you don’t know how to help,” I said.
“I hope that’s why,” She sighed.
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