For as long as we've been traveling our city's beltline, we've seen the occasional person standing on the side of the exit ramp asking for money. And my boys have always wondered why.

Years ago, when it was the random man holding a sign, I'd explain that the man could be homeless or out of a job and was looking for some help. And in the true spirit of children, my kids would ask if we could give him some money. I always said "no,"  we tried to help in other ways.

These days, I find my explanations have shifted, having lost some of their compassionate undertones. They're peppered with frustration as we've become accustomed to seeing the same individuals - men and women - day after day, standing at their designated spots on either of two exit ramps and median. And my intolerant tone has not been lost on the boys, one of which mumbled, "get a job" as we drove by.  

Yikes.  That would be me talking. And out of the mouths of babes, it sounds pretty cold. Pretty judgmental. Pretty awful. 

To a child, "get a job" sounds simple. Easy. Why wouldn't you? Just go home, take a shower, go out there and find one. Do what my parents do everyday. Work.

However, as we all come to know, especially in these times, it's not that easy. And while we have praise for someone we see extending the effort to better themselves, we have little compassion for those standing on the side of the road, asking for a handout.

What a wonderful world it would be if we, who stand in judgment of those on the corner, could figure out if that person with the sign had investigated every option and pursued every path before he turned to begging as a profession. Maybe then we wouldn't lock our doors and avoid eye contact. Maybe then we wouldn't utter phrases about personal responsibility. Maybe then we wouldn't send an unspoken message to our children that the person on the exit ramp  may not be as worthy as the donation we can make to the food bank.

In that moment, we're at our worst. We've started to tier based on perceived need. Based on what we think the story is. A story we don't know. What gives us the right to do that?

I know that not everyone gets to grow up in a safe home, gets to go to school or be surrounded by a loving family. Sometimes people make bad choices and have to suffer the consequences. Sometimes, people stumble on unfortunate times. Sometimes, life can deal an unfair hand.  Maybe that person on the corner doesn't know how to reach out and get started on a better path. But have I explained that well enough to my children?

As I sit in my high mileage, old yet comfy SUV, with two well fed kids who are being transported to an activity after finishing a day at school, where I shelled out extra money for speech and a few bucks for the wrapping paper sale, I'm reminded that I am fortunate. Even in tougher times, I still get to take us home to a cozy house, make dinner from a well stocked pantry and tuck my kids into a warm bed. Living in suburbia, it's easy to think that everyone starts with the same advantage. That everyone can figure out how to grab an opportunity. 

Listening to my child repeat my callous words, I realize that every time we passed the people on the exit ramp, I had missed the chance to teach my boys not to judge on first impression. To learn and understand before forming an opinion.

And by missing that chance, they ended up reminding me of something I had forgotten. Compassion. 

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.