"
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.
Comments (14)
This is a story more people need to hear.
Thank you for proving that caring for our fellow man can exist in any day and age.
That was really nice of you, more people ought to read this. You can definitely tell a lot about a person looking into their eyes.
And also, you were like an hour away from me then, I love Denver! So many pretty buildings and such. Luckily I love relatively close to it, and really close to Boulder.
reminds me of my dad. there's a designated spot where the homeless ask for money and since most of my family works near there, we always pass by it. my dad would drive by and pass them along and stop the car at the next stop sign. he would always say, "i can't do it." and he would turn around and give me the 20 to give to them.
i'm not sure if they still go cause we haven't seen them in a year or two...
ANYWAYS. that was really nice of you. ;)
I was homeless once. It made me more bitter toward the homeless than anyone with money to waste.
Because it really isn't that hard to survive if you're clever, or have initiative.
It's no fun at all... and it leaves its marks. But I begged of no one and lived just fine.
This is a really good story. I can feel the empathy flowing from your writing.
You're a good person. And a good investment indeed! It's all too common for people to replace compassion with suspicion, but gestures of kindness, big or small, can mean the world for the person you're giving it to.
Rec'd! My first one too.
And dang, I hope you didn't move the furniture all by yourself!
I've learned that it doesn't really matter if they are lying or not. That is between them and their maker. What matters is if you try to do something about it. Beautiful response by both you and the man.
This was beautiful. I usually give them food or water if I have any on me, instead of money which I usually have none of.
sure is. =]
That made me tear up a little. I have had homeless people ask me for money. But I didn't trust them so I'd walk with them to the nearest gas station or store and buy them about $10 worth of food. Some of them were so happy it made me feel amazing. But a couple were mad...
Had something simular happen to me.
It probably is the best investment you can make with five bucks...
I live in a not too huge not to small city. Ithaca, NY, we've got Cornell. And, along with Cornell we have the homeless. And, along with them we have kids who have loving parents and even those who are not the best at least provide the things the kids need. These kids go to the free meals constantly because it means having dinner at six instead on eight when they catch a bus or ride home. And, they probably eat at home. If they're so hungry they should stop hanging with their friends go home and eat. I've been in the position where my family actually needs these places and I hate to see kids fifteen sixteen years old running over to grab a hot meal because they want to stay and hang out longer. The homeless here aren't the ones you see in the big cities. Their kind and friendly to no end. And, well I've made a lot of friends that I probably won't see ever again. But we discussed this in my Psych class this past semester and my entire like twelve classmates disagreed with my actions...
So when I go to the Commons, it's our downtown, one of the only pedestrian malls left in the entire U.S., I take a look down one side then down the other. And, judging upon how many homeless I see I divide my cash up. I will go to a store to get change or even an ATM if it looks like I don't have enough to give everyone a buck or two. My Psych class was, on this day, only filled with people older than 20 something. I was the only person there any younger. About four or five of them had a husband or wife and/or a child or more. So I guess in these times once you're 21 you're too old not to be cynical? But they each took turns giving me hell about it and reasons. See I hated this class. It always angered me because people were so quick to judge and preach. I let everyone say their opinion and would simply tell them mine. First it got to the point where I wouldn't explain why I had my opinion, then to the point that I wouldn't even give it. There was reason behind me ditching this class. I loved the fact that I was the only one to choose a theme to overtake for our weekly Psych article and that I got to share my knowledge with a group of older adults. But that feeling died in a few classes when I became under the impression that these older adults were like shy children trying to become the new bully once, Tom the Bomb has moved away. Maybe their high school days sucked and made them bed hungry every morning, but that doesn't give them the right to yell at me for making the choices I do...
The point to this was to tell you that I am a big believer in faith and trust. I trust strangers more than some of my friends because you don't earn trust with me, just the right to keep it all. You start with complete faith. So even if someone was scamming me, I'll never know and well maybe they do something kind. Maybe they're making ends meet but work in fast food and haven't gotten the raise they deserve for the costumers or shitty boss or co- workers they have to deal with? You can't help everybody, but we're human and therefore it should be assumed that anyone could need your help, that you may even need theirs.
... I'm assuming you've seen "Pay it Forward," starring Haley Joel Osmet? If you haven't I can tell you now it's a movie you would love and should preferably rent, maybe download.