If I may, (I'll move this to another thread if ya want, HD) I'd like to post a short story I wrote seven years ago for a magazine. (Ya, I used to do short stories....)
It's called "The man on the street", and it's a true experience that happened to me, as I learned about humility from my Dad. He was a very successful businessman, who never forgot where he came from, Twelve kids in his farm family; all parceled out to orphanages and his only brother to Father Flanagan's Boys Town. I still have a xmas card and pic from there from uncle Ronny. Dad quit school at 17 and went into the Navy, where he served admirably as a corpsman in WWII. (Pharmacist's mate) Dad would often stop on the street, and give somebody enough money for a meal, or, if he was going into a restaurant, drag the guy in with him and buy him a meal. Anyway, here's the story...
The Man on the street
When I was a kid in the 60's, there was a dirty, disheveled guy with a big lump on his head, that would shuffle up and down the main drag, seemingly oblivious to the world and people around him. He seemed ageless. Because of the lump on the side of his head, kids named him "Onion head" or "Onion Joe". These seemingly intelligent, well-bred middle class future politicians/rocket scientists would harass this poor person unendingly. I myself would often hoot at him, displaying my plethora of highly intellectual verbiage for my age. My Dad owned an appliance store, and every summer would have a big outdoor tent sale, replete with food and beverages, which seemed to attract every street urchin within a 3 mile vicinity.
The people with no homes or jobs were, in that day and age, bums. Period. No empathy, need or justification could raise them from that unwanted status.
During one lazy afternoon at the tent sale, as it was my highly important and status-raising job in that twelve- year old bracket, to replenish the sodas, hot dogs and barbeques that were free fare for all who wished. I put on my tough twelve-year old demeanor when my Dad wasn't around, and attempted to shoo away these pesky "bums", who with streetwise knowledge, ignored me as they would a puffed up horny toad. For some reason, my Dad never minded feeding folks down on their luck. Suddenly, there was old "Joe"....grabbing a bun, making a mess, and attempting to make himself a barbeque sandwich. I don't remember what it was I said to him to get him out of there, because there suddenly was a hand around my neck that yanked me flat on my back in the gravel, then helped me stand up by pulling my shirt in a vertical yank. "What the $#@! did you just say to that poor man?!" said my Dad's red face, inches from mine. "Get your a** out of here right now and in my office!" I was too surprised, hurt, and ashamed that my tough demeanor was shattered in front of my equally tough pre-teen comrades, not to mention the pain that was still in my back from hitting that gravel drive like a drop kicked mule. I was there long enough to see my Dad go over and give Joe a paper plate, make some barbeques for him, and ask him if he wanted something "to drink"..not "wanna soda?" but "Would you like something to drink?"
That day, I learned humility,empathy and to appreciate fellow human beings for what they were , are, and may be, from a great human being, my Dad.
Not so long ago, right before I took my early retirement from law-enforcment, there was a pic of "Joe" in the local obituaries. His real name was Ronald, and he was 70 years old. He had died in a group home in town. I was reading this in the break room with one of the officers on my team, who, oddly enough, was named Joe, and I mentioned, "Did you ever know old Joe?", I asked, chuckling. He was quiet for a bit, then softly said to me, looking down at the table, "Yes, he was my brother".
The world froze for an unknown amount of time, as did my unthinking mouth.
I learned "Ronald' was a highly intelligent young man, until the car he was in coming home from school was broadsided, killing his sister and leaving him impaired.
I volunteer at the Salvation Army, and spend most Christmas' and Thanksgivings there, serving the dinners, eating my dinner there, with whoever doesn't mind me sitting next to them, and enjoying the day. I randomly will help folks out with a spot of money or whatever I can if they look hungrier than I am. I have no problem with sharing my lunch in a park with someone, be it another person, a stray pooch, or maybe a wayward pigeon.
It's taken most of my lifetime, but I like to praise myself by wishfully thinking that maybe I finally understand a little bit of what life SHOULD be like, if I can at least make it that way, a little better, for someone, for just a little bit...
Like Father, like son.
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