Bands That Never Stood A Chance

I love iTunes radio.














There really is some beautiful music out there.

- Brendan

Let me introduce you to one of the biggest social events of my summer:

















Yeah, so that's where I'll be this weekend.

- Brendan

"I should have done more."

A few days ago, my mom and I drove down to Denver.  My grandmother is moving out of her suburban townhouse and into a downtown apartment, so instead of hiring professional movers, everyone naturally elected me for the job of chief workhorse.  Basically, it was my job to go and help move all of the incredibly heavy/awkward objects like the kitchen table, long wooden bench and for some odd reason, three beds, even though she lives alone.

Now, all of these objects are rather easy to move out of a townhouse, but it's the whole "cramming them into an apartment elevator for eight floors" activity that makes you realize just how much you enjoy wide, open spaces.

However, the move itself isn't the topic of this story.

The day before the move, Mom and I had some free time away from the family in downtown Denver.  She needed to go run a few errands in order to clear up some facts for our upcoming passports, so I let her drop me off at a local Barnes & Noble/Starbucks so I could catch some free Wi-Fi and fiddle around on the internet a little bit.

It was an absolutely beautiful day out, uncannily cool for mid-July.  I took this opportunity to sit out on the patio with my computer, to get some fresh air and soak in the breathtaking view of the city's buildings.  Always one to admire architecture, I found myself starting to simply stare at the high-rise skyscrapers, imagining scenarios that involved me rushing about the city from glittering building to building.

It was the man that snapped me out of this daze.

I saw him at the other end of the patio.  His jeans were stained beyond repair, dirt worked so far into the denim that the original blue color had faded to an unremarkable gray.  He wore a flannel shirt, battered and torn from day-to-day life of living on the street.  He was mangy and filthy and hungry, and there was no doubt in my mind that he planned on asking for money.

Slowly, but surely, he made his way through the patio, stopping by every customer and asking for change.  He wasn't the first homeless man I'd ever seen, and the typical routine unfolded in front of my eyes:

A few people stared into their laps, guiltily muttering "I don't have any money on me," unable to meet the man's eyes.  They knew it was a lie, the man knew it was a lie, and I knew it was a lie.  But that's life, and none of the aforementioned parties were expecting any other outcome.

There were a couple who simply stared straight ahead, not even acknowledging the existence of the man.  City life had hardened these people against the needs of the homeless.  It was a scam, they probably thought.  If he was really homeless, he'd be in a shelter, right?

The group of ladies in front of me had some pity on the man.  They rummaged through their purses, finding any loose coins they could part with, coins that they'd end up losing in the couch cushions or collecting in a never-emptied container of junk.  They handed the change over sheepishly, unable to drink from their four-dollar cups of espresso, knowing that for what they paid for the sweet, superficial drinks could have went towards solving this man's problems.

And then he came to me.  And that's when I saw his face.

As he courteously apologized for bothering me for some money, I looked into his eyes.  Emotions flowed out of the two, uncannily-blue circles into my own brown ones.  Fear, exhaustion, a glimmer of hope...

But most of all, shame.

As he looked me dead in the eyes, I could see the inner turmoil that tore at him from the inside.  He didn't want to be here.  He didn't want to be subjected to the pity of strangers.  But he had to.

I knew, without asking, that he was a once-proud man.  He didn't fit the profile of a beggar.  He never pleaded with the customers ahead of me, never questioned their judgment or generosity.  If they had some spare change for him, he graciously thanked them and moved on.  If they refused/ignored him, he didn't beg.  He simply gathered his wits and moved on, as he expected that answer from the start.

I had a feeling that if it was up to him, he wouldn't be here, burying his pride in front of us.  I had a feeling that he would much sooner die in the gutter alone than be subjected to this embarrassing torture.

I had a feeling that there was more at stake than just his next meal.

Maybe there was a wife and child to feed.  Maybe he had been walking for days, trying to reunite with his family.  Maybe a friend of his needed all the support he could get.  Maybe maybe maybe.

But I didn't ask.  I looked him straight in the eye and gave him a half-smile.  I pulled out my wallet, and dug through the various outdated gift cards and receipts, looking for any shred of money that I could give this man.

Finally, my fingers brushed against a green bill that I promptly pulled out and handed to him.  It was just a five, not exactly a grand gesture, but I could see it was more than he was used to getting.  His eyes widened in disbelief, as if I had offered to buy him a house or made an equally grandiose offering.  He stammered his thanks and reached out his hand once more, but it wasn't for begging.  As he graciously shook my hand in jerky, short movements, I looked him in the eyes once more.

"Thank you," they said.  "This helps me more than you could possibly know."

I sat back down once he walked away.  Shutting my laptop, I stared back at the reflective buildings in the distance.

I found myself wishing that I had said more, done more.  I wished that I had offered him a seat, a chance to rest his weary legs.  I wished that I had said more than a handful of sentences to him.  I wished that I could've heard his story, given him an opportunity to unload his troubled mind.  I wished that I could understand the jolt I felt from his eyes.

But he was already gone, and there I sat, staring at the buildings.

When my mom returned to pick me up, I related the story to her as we walked back to the car.  As soon as I mentioned the five-dollar bill, I could see the slight frown spread across her face.  You can't just do that, she told me, some of those people don't even need the money.  There's reports of hundreds of scammers, begging for extra cash.  You can't always help everyone.

Though I kept quiet, I knew she was wrong about this man.  She didn't talk to him.  She didn't look in his eyes.  And she didn't hear the promise he made me, right before he left.

Right after he shook my hand, he said one more thing before he shuffled away.

"Later down the road, I'll be sure to pass your kindness on to someone else in a time of need."

That, my friends, was the greatest five-dollar investment I've ever made.