I was stopped at a red light only a mile or so from my goal of my brother's house. We were planning to drive down together to North Carolina to be with my father who was badly ill. As I waited at the stop light experiencing this forced slowdown, I noticed Sharper's Florist over to the left. It was the same place where I had experienced many things-- floods of memories went through my mind as the light seemed a blessing. I noticed the wine store straight ahead where my father and I had been many times before, picking out the beer of the week. We both liked German beer. The light finally became green and I made my left turn and drove through the poor section of our hometown. I remembered how each thanksgiving my family would be together. I also remembered how my father would take some time out of each thanksgiving to make sure there was no one hungry in the neighborhoods surrounding where we lived. I can remember as a young boy going with him to deliver some food. I was scared. I had never been into this part of town this deeply before. My father seemed unfazed   by this and went about his business. The people we went to seemed to know him and gratefully accepted what he came to offer. My father seemed able to give away the food in a way that honored those he was giving to. This was not an _ act. He would stop at each place and talk a little, which I can remember totally pissing me off (...). I wanted to get the hell out of there. My father wanted to be sure everyone had food. If there were people he found who didn't have food, he would take the time to go back and get more. That's the kind of man he was. The author was afraid of giving away food to the poor probably because   _  .
his father didn't stay with him then his father didn't take good care of him he was unfamiliar with the surroundings he had never met with so many poor people