THOMPSON: A reminder at a Denny’s on a cold Thanksgiving morning

Thanksgiving isn’t always a cold, blustery day in Canada. But last week as we awaited a veterinarian appointment for our horses crossing the border south of Winnipeg headed to Florida…it was two degrees, gray…with a 30 km/h wind.

With little to do Thanksgiving morning but wait for the next day’s border appointment…even a breakfast at Denny’s at the Flying J truck stop sounded too good to pass up. Bonnie did take a pass, however, the memory still fresh of Eggs Benedict she ordered at a Dennys somewhere in Missouri two years ago…that somehow came out as scrambled eggs topped with salsa.

Eggs Benedict notwithstanding, I have a theory that breakfast is the hardest meal too screw up…even in a greasy spoon diner…or at Denny’s. I ordered the Grand Slam breakfast – two eggs, any style, two strips of bacon, two link sausages and two pancakes – then Teresa, my server, said the same Grand Slam breakfast was $1.75 cheaper ordered somewhere else on the menu without a fancy name. I thanked her…and Teresa knew her tip just increased by $1.75.

A few minutes later, my breakfast arrived…and as I began eating soft scrambled eggs and crisp bacon…I noticed a young woman with two children – maybe 4- and 5-years-old – and another older woman slide into a nearby booth. My breakfast was good…even the coffee…as I pondered a day whose highlight would likely be me at Denny’s for dinner.

I looked up when I heard the sound of coins hitting a table top…and saw the mother at the booth begin counting Loonies, Toonies and quarters. The kids watched as mom counted…the older woman – maybe grandma – watched, as well…but more solemnly than the kids.

I put down my fork…and tried to observe as discreetly as I could. I soon knew what I had to do…but wanted to be careful in handling my conversation with that young mom.

I approached their table, smiled and said, “Would you do me the favour of allowing me to buy breakfast for you all?”

The mother looked at me and smiled…mouthing the words, “thank you,”…her voice failing her. I smiled, again, just as a server arrived, and I told her I would be paying for my friends.

“Order anything you want,” I suggested. The kids were excited…the grandma never really looked up. The mom looked both relieved…and a little uneasy from her thoughts.

A part of me so wanted to ask their situation…but I knew that was not my right. I saw two women with small children in dire straits…the stress was palpable. My mind raced…guessing that perhaps a mom and her kids escaped an abusive husband and father.

It looked as though they had broken the piggy bank and left home with the only money they had. As I left my table, I smiled at mom one last time…and she smiled back…patting her heart…and once again mouthing a thank you.

My feelings were bittersweet…I knew those kids had full bellies…but I knew, too, that there would be other meals…other days. I don’t know whether the cold, brisk weather made my eyes water as I walked back to our truck…or perhaps it was something else.

Compassion is a wonderful thing…it is one of those qualities that define us as humans. 

As a society, we often engage in a sort of word gymnastics in talking about the human condition. Somehow, we started describing those without enough to eat as being…food insecure.

Maybe I’m just old school. But those kids and mom and grandma…were simply hungry. Food insecure sanitizes a fundamental human need too much. You, me…and that mom in Denny’s all know what hungry is…it speaks to us with unmistakable clarity.

But returning to compassion…I believe we used to take care of each other better than we do now. Don’t get me wrong…it’s great that we have institutions – both governmental and not-for-profit agencies – for those who need a helping hand. 

In my mind…those agencies might fight food insecurity…but we – ordinary people –  fight hunger. It’s not an insignificant distinction. People have compassion…and can show it easier than any organization…no matter how efficient or well-intentioned.

That mom, her kids, and grandma would have to rely on themselves and the compassion of others – even strangers – in the days, weeks and months ahead.

On this morning they weren’t hungry.

It was Thanksgiving…and I was reminded on a cold morning in a Denny’s outside of Winnipeg…just what that means.