SCFinfan
Uber Member
Posts: 1642
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« Reply #18 on: February 06, 2009, 11:47:38 pm » |
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When I went to school in Charleston, I used to consistently give money and buy food for a poor man named Marvin. He was well-known and well-liked by the kids who went to my school, but the girls were sometimes frightened by his sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks. He used to tell me about his two marriages, his time in the service, and walking in on his wife cheating on him. I don't know what broke his spirit, but he didn't have a whole lot left. He had AIDS and died a few months before I graduated in 2005. I pray for him when I think about him.
I also, thankfully, had other opportunities to help the poor as well. One night in December I had the good luck of being approached by a poor shivering lady near a starbucks. She asked me for money, and I told her I'd do her one better: I'd get her something to warm her. I went into the Starbucks and broke a 10 on a large (venti? who knows) cup of coffee. I gave the poor lady the change, and the coffee. The barista ran after me and told me it was the nicest thing she'd ever seen someone do. I smiled, and then was quick-minded enough to say, "Thank God, who gave me the strength to do it."
Down here, I try to give change to any poor person who asks for it. It's difficult, because I know the money may go to drugs or something else damaging, but there's not much I can do. I try to give more to those poor individuals who I consistently see on the street, and who do not show signs of drug or alcohol abuse. The language barrier that I sometimes face makes interaction difficult.
Last semester, when I worked at the Supreme Court of Florida, I had the good luck of meeting a group of hobos who lived under a tree next to a gas station on the corner of North Ocala and West Pensacola (you can see it if you look for 2028 W Pensacola Street in Google street view). I used to go to McDonald's on Wednesdays or Sundays (coming home from Mass) and bring them all the 49 cent hamburgers they could eat. Like Marvin, they would tell me their sob stories. One was black, and used to talk to me about how, even amongst the poor, there was a distinct undercurrent of racism. One was a Vietnam War vet who appeared to be suffering from PTSD. The others had walked to Tallahassee from various parts of Georgia and Florida, and just didn't feel like moving on yet. When winter came, I noticed that they did not have any shoes or socks to wear (they mostly wore flip-flops), and so I gave them 2 pairs of my thickest, most comfortable socks that I had.
I've noticed, with all the poor with whom I've come in contact, that they seem to desire kindness and equal treatment more than anything. The Vietnam Vet (Sam, as he called himself) in Tallahassee once broke into tears while telling me about losing friends in combat. He said the pain was made worse by coming home and receiving taunts from individuals, losing his job, losing his sense of self-worth, and eventually, losing all hope. I took his hand, looked him in the eye, and then one of the best moments of my life occurred; I said, "Sam, listen to me. I'm just one person, but I want to you to know that as long as I am in the world, there are people out there who love you just because you are here. It does not matter to them where you've been or what you've made of yourself, they love you and cherish you nonetheless. And I am proud to be able to spend time with a veteran of my county's armed services. I can't give you back the friends you've lost, but I can thank you for what you've done to me. Thank you, Sam."
Sam broke into a sob, but it wasn't the hopeless, imperiled sobs that I'd heard him utter before. He really seemed appreciative of my words, and perhaps a little hope and relief seeped into his toughened heart. I hope he's doing alright, and that all the poor I've met, both in Charleston or elsewhere, are doing well at this moment in time. God bless 'em all.
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