The man who asked me for money was dressed better than I was and stood in front of a bicycle that looked nicer than any I'd ever owned.

We were outside a McDonald's -- I was headed in, he was standing just outside the door -- when he asked if I had any spare change. My immediate reaction was, "I don't think so."

But then I opened my wallet and poured into his hand all the quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies I had. Over the years I have repeatedly recovered from my initial instinct to walk away and instead have given money to people on the street who have asked for some.

I don't question any longer whether someone needs my money, what they'll do with it or whether I'm doing more harm than good by helping in this way. I used to do quick "needs assessments" -- did the person appear showered, able to work or generally beaten up by life?

Then I worked for a rabbi who set aside a temple emergency assistance fund that was available to anyone who asked. All a person had to do was call in and request up to $50 or so per week to pay a power bill, buy groceries or cover some other expense. At first I was outraged that the rabbi didn't ask for proof. Didn't he fear being lied to? Taken advantage of? Betrayed?

Nope. He began by trusting everyone, choosing to have faith rather than live ever-suspicious of people's motives and means. He and my father both taught me: Never count another person's money.

So, for me, the better impulse is simple: What I have, I share.

However, I sometimes say no to people, even when my wallet is full.

When my son was younger, I didn't give money to anyone who approached me while I was with him, preferring to write checks to charities from the privacy of my home. I feared Colter was too young to understand this kind of raw need and would be frightened by it.

Over the years, my husband and I have taken him gleaning, sorted through toys to give away and helped him learn generosity in other ways.

But sometimes, before we've even paid for one toy or book, he's ready and eager for another. We often remind him to be grateful not greedy.

That strikes me as a particularly important lesson at this time of year.

We offer friends and family our appreciation during November's Thanksgiving celebrations; then we have the chance to express our generosity in December. And yet, often that genuine desire to give gets consumerized and sucked in by a materialistic hunger that seems insatiable.

This impulse for more -- more gifts, more praise, more of everything -- is, by definition, greed: "An excessive desire to acquire or possess more than what one needs or deserves."

Unfortunately, greed is entirely acceptable these days. In fact, it's practically encouraged.

I want my son to have dreams, but not if that means sacrificing gratitude for how full and satisfying his life already is.

After all, happiness requires wanting what you have, not having what you want.

Julie Moos is a fortysomething who lives with her husband and son. Her column appears every other Thursday. To read more of her thoughts, visit MomInTheMirror.com.