dless the circumstance, something seems to sympathize with my heart and give me a reason to care. After reading Ascher's essay I wonder what my mom would have done in this situation if I had not been at her side. I do know that something caused her to stop, and to not simply walk right past the man despite the rush we were in. He began to show my mom torn old receipts that he claimed to be from his daughters' asthma medication. I agree with Ascher that if it weren't for the unfortunate homeless than I wouldn't be compassionate. My mom, impatient to find a restaurant, shook her head as if she believed his story and gave him some money. Chicago being a bigger city, there was an abundance of
homeless people. My mom and I, eager to find a nice place to dine before the show, wearily set down the long sidewalks of the city. As for me I believed the man, and I honestly felt sorry for him. We stood on the sidewalk's center for awhile listening to the man persuade us of his sick daughters' condition. My mom smiled at me, and slightly let off her grip on my hand. Maybe that homeless man is what sparked the compassion in me. I don't know if she actually was sorry for that man, of if she feared him, or if she even believed his story. It was then obvious that a strange looking man walking our way was on the verge of approaching us. I felt my mom grip my hand a little tighter and we proceeded to walk on ahead.
