10/18/2025
I hope everyone that complains about snowbirds will read this and think twice . No comments necessary, i did not write this.
I was walking to the register of the dollar store today, arms full of paper towels and cleaning products , when I noticed a woman at the register ahead of me. She couldnโt have been taller than five feet, maybe 83 or 84, wearing her Sunday best โ a light blue suit, matching hat, and a string of pearls that caught the fluorescent light. She was beautiful in that dignified, old-fashioned way that makes you want to stand a little straighter just being near her.
But her hands were trembling.
She was trying, over and over, to punch her PIN into the card reader. It beeped, blinked red, and refused her again.
Behind me, a man sighed loud enough for everyone in the checkout line to hear. โCome ON,โ he muttered, shifting from one foot to the other like she was stealing time he could never get back.
The cashier, bless her heart, tried to stay patient, but you could see the tension in her shoulders too โ that mixture of sympathy and schedule that retail workers live under.
So I stepped forward. โLetโs try one more time, sweetheart,โ I said softly. โTake a deep breath. Sometimes those machines have worse manners than people.โ
That earned me a little smile.
She nodded, tapped her card again, and this time it worked.
When she looked up, her eyes crinkled with relief. โWell, isnโt that something,โ she said, almost to herself. โEven my cardโs getting old and forgetful.โ
We laughed together, but the man behind me didnโt. He just grabbed his items, muttered something under his breath, and stalked out the door.
The cashier handed over the womanโs receipt, and she started gathering her bags โ four of them, heavy with canned goods, laundry detergent, and a few treats that made me think she still enjoyed the little things: a box of sugar wafers, a new dish towel printed with sunflowers.
She made her way to the exit, only to stop at the row of shopping carts. Her cart had one of those long metal poles sticking up from it โ the kind that stops you from taking it out of the store.
She tried to angle it just right to get it through the door, and I could see the confusion and embarrassment starting to flicker across her face.
I put my items down & stepped forward. โHere, let me help you,โ I said.
โOh no,โ she insisted quickly, her voice tight but polite. โThatโs alright, dear. Iโll manage.โ
I shook my head. โYouโve already done your managing for the day. Please, let me give you a hand.โ
She hesitated, then looked out toward the parking lot, where the sunlight was fading behind a row of cars. Then she looked back at her bags and sighed.
โWell,โ she said quietly, โI donโt want to trouble you. You might not even be parked near me.โ
โThen Iโll just walk a little further,โ I said, smiling. โItโll do me good.โ
Thatโs when she finally let me help.
As we walked out together, she introduced herself. โIโm Dixie,โ she said. โIโm 83. I stopped in after church and the grocery store. These errands wear my old body out sometimes.โ
She chuckled, but it was the kind of laugh that hides a little exhaustion underneath.
Her car was parked near the back of the lot, one of those older Buicks that still had the โJesus Loves Youโ bumper sticker faded from years of sunshine. As we loaded her bags into the trunk, she kept apologizing.
โI used to be faster,โ she said. โUsed to carry my groceries, my grandbabies, my whole world. Now look at me โ canโt even remember my own PIN number.โ
I wanted to tell her she didnโt need to be fast, that sheโd already done her running, her serving, her raising. But I just smiled and said, โWell, youโre doing just fine, Dixie.โ
When I closed her trunk and turned to wish her a good day, she reached into her purse and asked, โHow much do I owe you?โ
I laughed, thinking she was joking. โYou donโt owe me a thing.โ
But her expression didnโt change. Her hand trembled as she pulled out her wallet. โNo, no. You helped me carry those heavy bags. I must pay you.โ
Thatโs when my heart cracked a little.
I gently put my hand on hers. โDixie, please donโt. You donโt owe me anything โ not for this, not for kindness.โ
Her eyes softened, but the confusion remained. โItโs justโฆ people donโt do that anymore,โ she whispered.
And sheโs right.
When did kindness become a transaction? When did we start living like generosity requires a receipt?
As I drove home, I couldnโt stop thinking about her โ about how instinctively sheโd reached for her wallet instead of her gratitude, because somewhere along the way, we taught her that help must come with a price.
Dixie isnโt just one woman at a dollar store. Sheโs all the elderly people trying to hold onto their independence in a world thatโs racing past them. Sheโs the tired man at the pharmacy trying to hear the pharmacist through his hearing aid. Sheโs the woman in the grocery aisle reading labels too small to see, while someone behind her sighs impatiently.
And if weโre honest, weโre failing them.
Weโre failing our elderly โ the people who built our towns, raised our parents, kept our neighborhoods kind. Weโre failing our young ones too, who are growing up thinking eye contact is a threat and patience is optional.
We have to do better.
We have to choose kindness, not just when itโs convenient or photogenic, but when itโs slow and awkward and unprofitable. We have to hold doors. Smile first. Speak gently. Offer our time like itโs worth more than our money โ because it is.
We have to remind people like Dixie that kindness still exists. That not everyone wants something in return. That she can walk through this world believing sheโs safe and valued, not a burden.
We need to spark again. Not the kind of spark that burns fast and fades, but the steady kind โ the one that warms hearts and lights others to do the same.
So hereโs my challenge to you:
Tomorrow, be deliberate. Go out of your way for someone. Say โyouโre welcomeโ and mean it. Ask a name, remember it. If you see someone like Dixie, donโt wait to be asked โ step forward. Offer. Show them we remember what community feels like.
Because if we donโt start sparking more light into this world, the shadows will keep growing โ and one day, weโll all be the ones standing at the checkout, trying to remember our PIN, hoping someone behind us still remembers how to care.
Canโt we do better?
For Dixie โ and for all our elderly.
