It was almost 7 on a weekday evening, and I’d just left my job at a trade magazine in Koreatown, not the safest area in L.A. even during the day, and now dusk was fully upon the city with perhaps 20 minutes of daylight to spare. I was about to do a favor for a very dear friend, a favor that now sounds crazy to me, but at the time sounded sane, even noble.
The friend was going to watch a baby for the weekend as part of the Safe Families program, a nonprofit group that helps families in severe distress. The program is really great. It provides overwhelmed parents who have limited resources a safe, temporary place for their child without the threat of losing custody. The Safe Families volunteers act as an extended family to these struggling parents and lessen the burden on the welfare system at the same time.
Anyway, back to me on that darkening evening. The friend was scheduled to pick up a Safe Families baby at a Burger King near my work. The mother was fleeing domestic abuse and struggling to get her life back on track. The baby needed a safe place to stay. The friend wasn’t able to make it to the Burger King on time. Could I help?
Of course I could help. First of all, who wouldn’t want to rescue a poor, frightened baby in need of security? Second, this friend is an amazing person who has helped me on numerous occasions. Despite a loud interior voice telling me this wasn’t really a good idea, I agreed to meet the mother and pick up the baby.
I was early to the meeting, so I stopped on my way and parked somewhere off Wilshire to make a phone call, but when I tried to restart my car, it wouldn’t budge. I never made it to the Burger King.
I had to call the friend, and she figured out another arrangement. Next, I called my husband, who wasn’t very happy with me for agreeing to pick up a baby after dark in a bad part of Los Angeles. I had jumper cables in my car but needed help, so rather than wait an hour in the growing dark for AAA, I went searching for someone to give me a jump.
The only person I could find was a guy sitting in his car parked a couple of spots behind me. He grudgingly agreed to help, and the car sprang to life. When I offered him $10, he shook his head emphatically, “No,” an unexpected sign of kindness that buoyed me enough to make the long drive home.
I made it home safely that night, and the baby made it to my friend’s house. The only really angry person was my husband, who couldn’t believe I would agree to do something he considered quite dangerous. (I should note that he would help someone in distress – and has – despite dangerous circumstances. He just doesn’t want me doing it)
It’s pretty much impossible for me to say no to a friend. I’m not writing this to prove what a great person I am, because, to be honest, my first inclination is to say no when asked to perform an arduous favor. Truly, my first impulse is to refuse a friend’s request, even a favor less scary than picking up a baby.
But I don’t say no, because once I consider our friendship and what it means to me, I tell myself that I should do whatever I’m able to do for my friend, no matter the burden. Then I wonder if deep inside I’m a much smaller, less-kind person than I try to actually be in real life.
I have a feeling there are people who say, “Yes!” right away, without any interior voice whispering, “You really, really don’t want to do that.” If you have to fight your instincts in order to be a better person, does that make you less good?
I know that women are generally considered pleasers, myself included. We dislike disappointing people or saying no to anyone. And I agree, for the most part, that learning to set limits and occasionally refuse to do favors is healthy. But my friends rarely ask favors of me, so when they do I want to be able to say yes to them, because I know they would say yes back to me. And because I love them.
Contact the writer: hskyler@ocregister.com
