The hands tell a story.

Last night, I passed a guy on a bench in town. I recognized him as the guy who threw his cigarette butt on the ground a few months ago (many of you remember that post), and as I walked by, he talked to me. 

"Spare a dollar so I can get dinner, brother?"

I immediately went into reactionary, defense mode, telling him I had no cash. I kept walking. He thanked me.

In the two block walk back to my car, I thought about my reply to him. It was honest because I didn't have any cash on me, but I had a little in my car. Then I remembered what it felt like when I was hungry with little money. I drove around the block, parked, and approached him at the bench and took a seat.

His name is Robert. He's a construction worker and a jack of all trades, if you will. He's also homeless. 

I never would have guessed it when I saw him each morning as I got coffee. He didn't fit the "stereotype." He appeared clean, waiting to go to work for the day with a cup of coffee and his tools next to him.

Robert sleeps under a bridge next to a creek, or on the porch of the town library when it gets nasty. He admitted he was a meth user in the past, but has been clean for some time. His job he was working in late spring ended, and so did his income. He's been doing odd jobs for a local business owner who gives him $5 here and there -- enough for coffee in the morning but little else. His bag of clothing had been stolen recently and he had only the clothes on his back. The local thrift store, Good Cheer, noticed this and told him to go pick out clothes at no cost.

I made him an offer. He no longer throws down cigarette butts, especially since it is so dry, and I would get him dinner. Of course, he said yes. I then asked to take a picture of his hands. Again, he said yes.

Before I took the shot, he pointed out the scar on his right palm; you can see it under his ring finger. He told me of the time when he was so cold and desperate for heat. He took scraps of rosewood from his pocket and lit them, making a small fire. It burned hot, and he held his hands close to the flame, enjoying the warmth. He didn't realize it was burning and blistering his palms until it was too late.

I drove him to a local restaurant and told him to get what he wanted. I've never seen someone eat so quickly. 

The reason I'm sharing his story is because I admit I judged him and walked away. I didn't stop to listen or help. I know there are tens of thousands of homeless across the state. They are considered to be a stain on society. A good number are horrible and would steal and kill to get ahead. In contrast, a good number are not.

I'll check on Robert when I see him around town, and get him a meal here and there. He helped me move the fawn last night, and was profusely thankful for the meal and the talk.

The $15 meal was one thing; the gift of time and conversation was another. He appreciated both. While I may not always have spare money to feed someone, I will always have the gift of time and a listening ear. 

Until the next time, Robert.