Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?
Last Saturday presented me with a very emotional morning. After attending what was for me a very emotional ceremony at the cenotaph at Toronto's Old City Hall, I stepped into a Tim Horton's to buy a cup of coffee. Standing at the door, holding it open for all who walked in or out, was a homeless gentleman.
The wind was blowing a fine rain steadily into his face, and trying its best to get the damp past the paper-thin coat secured at his throat with a poppy. His left hand held the door; his right held an old paper cup to catch any change that Timmy's customers might feel inspired to give. He shook visibly with the cold, but it didn't stop him from greeting every person that passed with "Have a good day!" Few responded, either with words or with coins. I thanked him for holding the door and entered the shop.
After two hours of standing at the cenotaph, I felt myself to be chilled right through. I looked at him and wondered how many hours he might have been standing at his post. While I wrapped my hands around the warm cup and inhaled the fragrance of the brew, I wondered what had brought him to such a state of affairs. I knew it might have been his own doing, but it could just as easily have been circumstances beyond his control, and my passing judgment was nothing that he needed.
The words of the hymns from the ceremony were still singing themselves in my mind, all of them cries for help from the Almighty. I began to think that this man was likely questioning whether the Almighty was aware of his need or not. I certainly was and I needed to do something about it.
Just before I rose from my seat, a woman entered the shop. As he held the door for her and extended the cup, she used a belligerent voice to demand of him why he didn't give her some money. Why should she give him anything, she bellowed. He shrank back against the wall behind him and hunched his shoulders almost as though to ward off a blow.
Then I approached the door and he hurried to open it. Stepping outside, I commented to him on just how cold the weather was and asked him if a hot meal would be helpful. Fot the first time, he raised his eyes to my face and said that it would be wonderful. I asked him please to step inside and come to the counter with me, to order a meal. As we waited in line, he stood silently beside me and I thought a little conversation might lighten the moment, so I told him where I had just been. He said he had been there too. His father had served in the infantry during the Second World War, he told me, and said that he went to the cenotaph every year, to remember his dad. I told him my dad had been in the Navy in the same conflict, and there was suddenly a feeling of camaraderie, of common ground for us.
When it was our turn, I invited him to place his order and he asked for a serving of chili. The man behind the counter suggested we take the combo, which meant that for a "better price" than items ordered singly, he could have coffee and a doughnut as well. That sounded just right, as I assured both men. The sale was rung up and I brought out my wallet. The total was $5.92 and I had a twenty in hand. I looked for two pennies but found I had none. The hungry man beside me reached into his paper cup, brought out two pennies and extended them to me, with a smile. I thanked him, took them and passed them on to the server. The change was a few cents, two toonies, and two fives. I took the fives and offered the toonies to the man at my side. He took them and gave me another smile in return.
I made to leave him then, at the counter, and wished him a good day before I went back to my seat. As I sat down again, I was overwhelmed with such deep sadness. I thought of the last smile I had seen on his face, and how for just a moment I had seen the young man he had been, looking out at the world with confidence, before it turned on him. I couldn't stay the tears from my eyes. I gave my momentary fiend what I felt to be the respect of not looking over at him as he ate. Why should he be watched, more than any other customer there might expect to be?
I stemmed my tears then and began to give thanks. I thanked my creator that I had been allowed to be there when one of my brothers needed help and I gave thanks that I was blessed with the wherewithal to offer the help that I did.
I know my action would have resulted in a warmly filled stomach for the man I met. More than that, I'm hoping it would have given him a warmly filled heart for a little while. I'm hoping the smiles I gave back to him would have stayed with him for a while and acted as his shield against the likes of the woman who was so heartless in the face of his need. May she never find herself shivering in a doorway, hoping for others to drop a few coins of charity into her outstretched hand.
The wind was blowing a fine rain steadily into his face, and trying its best to get the damp past the paper-thin coat secured at his throat with a poppy. His left hand held the door; his right held an old paper cup to catch any change that Timmy's customers might feel inspired to give. He shook visibly with the cold, but it didn't stop him from greeting every person that passed with "Have a good day!" Few responded, either with words or with coins. I thanked him for holding the door and entered the shop.
After two hours of standing at the cenotaph, I felt myself to be chilled right through. I looked at him and wondered how many hours he might have been standing at his post. While I wrapped my hands around the warm cup and inhaled the fragrance of the brew, I wondered what had brought him to such a state of affairs. I knew it might have been his own doing, but it could just as easily have been circumstances beyond his control, and my passing judgment was nothing that he needed.
The words of the hymns from the ceremony were still singing themselves in my mind, all of them cries for help from the Almighty. I began to think that this man was likely questioning whether the Almighty was aware of his need or not. I certainly was and I needed to do something about it.
Just before I rose from my seat, a woman entered the shop. As he held the door for her and extended the cup, she used a belligerent voice to demand of him why he didn't give her some money. Why should she give him anything, she bellowed. He shrank back against the wall behind him and hunched his shoulders almost as though to ward off a blow.
Then I approached the door and he hurried to open it. Stepping outside, I commented to him on just how cold the weather was and asked him if a hot meal would be helpful. Fot the first time, he raised his eyes to my face and said that it would be wonderful. I asked him please to step inside and come to the counter with me, to order a meal. As we waited in line, he stood silently beside me and I thought a little conversation might lighten the moment, so I told him where I had just been. He said he had been there too. His father had served in the infantry during the Second World War, he told me, and said that he went to the cenotaph every year, to remember his dad. I told him my dad had been in the Navy in the same conflict, and there was suddenly a feeling of camaraderie, of common ground for us.
When it was our turn, I invited him to place his order and he asked for a serving of chili. The man behind the counter suggested we take the combo, which meant that for a "better price" than items ordered singly, he could have coffee and a doughnut as well. That sounded just right, as I assured both men. The sale was rung up and I brought out my wallet. The total was $5.92 and I had a twenty in hand. I looked for two pennies but found I had none. The hungry man beside me reached into his paper cup, brought out two pennies and extended them to me, with a smile. I thanked him, took them and passed them on to the server. The change was a few cents, two toonies, and two fives. I took the fives and offered the toonies to the man at my side. He took them and gave me another smile in return.
I made to leave him then, at the counter, and wished him a good day before I went back to my seat. As I sat down again, I was overwhelmed with such deep sadness. I thought of the last smile I had seen on his face, and how for just a moment I had seen the young man he had been, looking out at the world with confidence, before it turned on him. I couldn't stay the tears from my eyes. I gave my momentary fiend what I felt to be the respect of not looking over at him as he ate. Why should he be watched, more than any other customer there might expect to be?
I stemmed my tears then and began to give thanks. I thanked my creator that I had been allowed to be there when one of my brothers needed help and I gave thanks that I was blessed with the wherewithal to offer the help that I did.
I know my action would have resulted in a warmly filled stomach for the man I met. More than that, I'm hoping it would have given him a warmly filled heart for a little while. I'm hoping the smiles I gave back to him would have stayed with him for a while and acted as his shield against the likes of the woman who was so heartless in the face of his need. May she never find herself shivering in a doorway, hoping for others to drop a few coins of charity into her outstretched hand.
1 Comments:
That's a very nice story, and a very nice thing to do. Most people would never make eye contact, let alone verbally acknowledge the existence of those less fortune than themselves. It's those same people who will not see the janitor, the cleaning, the waiters/waitresses, etc. For them, there is no god for them under-priviledged.
And you don't need a god for those less fortunate than yourself. What you did wasn't divinely sanctioned. It was pure human spirit. It is something that we all have in us, yet few ever are moved by it. You're unlike most.
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