Mother keeps a five-gallon thermos of ice water and a stack of plastic cups on her back steps for passersby in her neighborhood. She leaves a container for used cups so she can wash and reuse. Dozens of people stop by for water, every day, mainly children. One day, a lone six-year-old stopped by, got a drink, turned his back to the street, peed in his empty cup, and tossed it back in to-be-washed container. Mother came flying out of her house, where she’d seen him from her kitchen windown, and told him if he did that again he couldn’t get water at her house. She called me later wondering if she’d been too harsh. I don’t think this is the woman who raised me.