I am the homeless man

I just left Target from an evening of Christmas shopping–Senseless consumerism; stocking stuffers, candy, clothes, and toys.

“Damn Target got the best of me again."

There he was. I couldn’t ignore him, even if I wanted to. I couldn’t ignore this person who stood in the path to my car. He was small, he looked like a young boy. As I walked closer, I realized he was not a child—he was an adult man, throwing a tennis ball at an empty bag of chips that lay on the parking lot ground.

"Is he homeless?" I wondered.

I glanced at the curb and noticed several duffle bags which confirmed my question.

It was a chilly night. I quickly walked to my car, to dodge the biting Colorado air. The cold didn't seem to bother this man who wore a light sweater hoodie.

I watched him throw the ball. I could tell the chip-bag was empty but he was determined to prove there were chips inside. Why didn’t he just bend down to see the bag contents? Was he too embarrassed to show the public he was homeless, even though his clothes, duffle bags, and lonely face said otherwise. He continued throwing the tennis ball at the bag. Perhaps it was a game he created to busy himself from the hungers pangs of needing food.

“He must be so hungry,” I thought.

I walked past him, eyes fixed to the ground. The shame of watching a man look for his next meal in an empty piece of trash, made me shrink. I shut my car door, rummaged my purse, and pinched a twenty-dollar bill. I was saving the money to give as an I.O.U.

I wrestled the idea to not give up my hard-earned cash. But the thought of this man playing a game of, chip-bag-hide-and-seek, didn't sit well.

I folded the twenty-dollar bill into my hand. I opened my car door and walked toward the man who by now, was seated on the curb in front of my headlights.

“Here you go, Sir.”

I handed him the money, making immediate eye contact—to show respect, as my mother taught me.

“Thank you,” he responded. His voice was soft and timid.

I looked to the ground as I scurried back to my car. The indignity of watching a man count money or flash a smile, just to make me feel good, felt wrong.

The man curiously looked at the money. He waded it up and shoved it into his pocket. He returned to throwing the ball from the curb.

“He doesn’t want the money, he’s hungry!” I declared.

I looked behind my seat and found a few unopened Taki, chip bags; the kind I buy my kids when I allow them to indulge in salty snacks when going on long car rides.

“His belly will burn when he eats these hot chips, I cringed.”

I exited my car.

“Here you go, I realized I had these extra bags in my car.”

This time he didn’t say thank you. He immediately opened the bag of chips and began eating.

The unnerving thought returned, “Those chips will burn his empty stomach. He will need water.”

I started my car and drove to Del Taco which sat in an adjacent parking lot.

“I hope he doesn’t leave before I get back.”

Luckily, the drive-through line was empty. I ordered a large burrito meal with fries, Coke, and water. The total came to around ten bucks. This time I didn’t make an excuse as to why I needed to save my money and use it on something more justifiable. I felt this was a priority.

"This man was HUNGRY!"

I looked across the parking lot but couldn't see him.

“Oh no, he left. What will I do with his meal?”

As terrible as it sounds, I hoped another homeless person was nearby to hand it off to. I returned to my original parking spot and realized he was still sitting on the curb. He finished the chips I gave him. He wasn’t throwing any more balls at empty bags. He sat on the curb, staring blankly.

I exited my car again, this time I left it running.

The feeling of shame returned; shame for helping a man in need. Shame for publicly making a scene and returning with food.

“Here you go Sir,” I passed him the bag, “it’s a burrito, fries, and drinks.”

“Thank you,” he softly whispered as he opened the bag.

I walked back to my car and closed the door.

As I strapped the seatbelt over my chest, I watched him. Without any inspection of the burrito's contents, he took a bite.

My throat swelled with tears. I took a breath and drove away.

THE LESSON...

What if this man doesn’t know what to do with the $20 I gave him, which is why he waded it into his pocket? What if he's too ashamed to walk into a store because how he’s dressed? What if he doesn’t have place to put his things? What if this man is given money, clothes, house, or car but doesn’t understand how to use it?

The ‘what ifs’ swamped my mind. Why was I suddenly obsessed on what this man would do with his money? Why did I question the gift I gave him and whether he put it to good use?

The thought resonated so deep because—

I AM THE HOMELESS MAN

Here I am, present day, living pay check-to-pay check. Here I am, consistently being fed knowledge; from friends, loved ones, books, social media –very gifted, successful individuals. Because I’m broken on the inside, I can’t receive their gifts. I don’t know what to do with the abundance of knowledge. Which, if used correctly, can be directly translated to money, freedom, and success.

I am the homeless man in other people's eyes; People who have given me platforms, opportunity and direct knowledge to excel. Yet, because I can’t see it for myself— I too, wad it up like a crinkled twenty-dollar bill and shove it to the back of my mind.

I felt so drawn to that man sitting outside Target because I saw myself in him.

We are reflections of one another. What we see in others, is a mirrored reflection of what we see and feel within ourselves.

I AM THE HOMELESS MAN—HUNGRY, WANTING MORE.