Two days ago I went to the Rite Aid on Smith and Bergen to pick up some contact solution. On my way I walked past a man with his son whom I'm guessing was around four years old.. The little boy was walking a few paces in front of his dad. I watched him trip, fall and hit his face hard on the cement. When he lifted his head there was some blood coming from his nose and mouth and as I'm sure you guessed he immediately started crying.  I stood across the street watching and waiting for his father to comfort him. Instead his dad walked over, picked him up by the back of his shirt, roughly set him on his feet and said in a low threatening voice "boy you better act right." I felt so helpless. Every bone in my body wanted to hold him but you can't really do that. A young white girl can't cradle a small boy outside the projects while his big black dad three times her size stares her down. This is the reality of New York. All I could do was turn around and cry for the love and tenderness that little boy probably never receives.
I kept walking and when I turned the corner onto Smith I happened to run into a woman I work for, Beth. A little bit of info about Beth. She is a somewhat well off New Jersey native that spent 10 years in the corporate world before becoming a doula. She was coming back from a CPR class and stopped to talk. I told her what happened obviously shaken from it and she gave me a small smile patted me on the back and said "Oh Kaycie you're so sensitive. Go get your contact solution. I'll see you on Monday." 
Living here has taught me that I am somewhat naive to city life. I've learned to keep walking when someone stops to tell me about a friend down on their luck or look away when a homeless man stands up on the subway. None of which I can do without feeling guilty. I have overheard two homeless men at a stop talk about how they had enough money from trolling the trains to buy some smack. It still keeps me guessing though, what if this man is telling the truth this time? 
But is this something that I'll just have to get used to as well? Is seeing the open mistreatment of children a part of everyday life? I know I'm sensitive but where do you draw the line between necessary hardness and honest human empathy? 
The question constantly on my mind is how do you measure a man? How do I measure myself?
I am often surprised. I've seen the hardest looking man on the train empty his pockets for a man and his girlfriend claiming they needed money for insulin. I've seen an old Chinese woman get her arm smashed in the subway doors to return a little girl's doll. I've watched the sweetest most polite homeless man give up his seat to a tired mother. I've walked past a group of girls only to hear white bitch as I pass by. I've seen men digging in garbage and women sobbing on the street. I've put on a stoic face but I'm still tender underneath and I don't walk away from anything I've seen unscathed. Maybe I am sensitive by anyone's standards. Maybe I don't know anything at all but here's something that I hope. I hope I'm never not affected by it. I'm proud of who I am and I'm not afraid to admit I've got a big bleeding heart. I hope everything I see hits me like a punch to the stomach and leaves me reeling every time.