As I was driving past, he was walking across the on-ramp, back to a woman sitting on the other side. She too, was wearing tattered clothes, and she looked tired. For a split second, I glimpsed his face, crystal clear in my eyesight. There were tears in his eyes, pain in his dejected face. He wiped away a tear, dropped his gaze, and then he was gone. The light had turned green, and he became lost in my rear view mirror.
I couldn't get his face out of my head for the rest of the day. I've always been taught to be leery of people with signs. These roadside beggars have been classified as "alcoholics", "lazy", or "dangerous". But what about the people who really are down on their luck?
More than likely the reason that dejected face struck me so acutely is because....I've been there. Not begging on the side of the road, I have too much pride for that, but I've been down on my luck before. I've slept on the couch of someone who didn't want me there. I've looked for work in a town where there were no jobs. I've spent long days in libraries and Starbucks coffee shops. I've walked the sidewalk of a busy street with nowhere to go and no way to get there. I know how it feels.
And maybe that acute experience with failure is what made that face stick in my brain like a poisoned hook. It was a cold chill of the past, a bitter reminder of a time when life was cold, bleak, and heartless.
Today I drove through that same intersection, and although the face had changed, the story was the same. This time it was a young couple. They held signs, him standing, and she, sitting at his feet.
Thoughts raced around my head. What if they're just getting easy money? What if they aren't really down on their luck? What if they aren't really hungry, homeless, traveling, unemployed, or raising a family?
But this time, I reached into my pocket, pulled out that bill I was saving for a rainy day, and held it out with a smile.
Who cares what their reasons are? Sure, I can't verify their story or their intentions. All I know is that there was a time when I needed help, and a hand reached out the preverbal window for me. I had nothing, nowhere to go, nothing to cling to, and I can never describe how grateful I was for that assistance. Don't they deserve for someone to take that risk for them?
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