Like most people, I work hard, take care of my family, and keep my nose out of other people's business. Although I do donate some money to charities, and I also have been known to empty my pockets of change for a homeless person, I'm not a big guy on the bleeding heart circuit.
Most of time, I more or less try to ignore as many of the many needy around me, if only as a form of self-protection, you know?
Today, going about my daily business, (albeit a little ticked off because my car was sitting in a GM repair shop that eventually admitted it was so busy that they wouldn't be able to even look at it until tomorrow, meaning I had no real option here in public-transportation-unfriendly California to get to my job), I was picking up some supplies for dinner at the corner store.
The men who operate the convenience shop are brothers, tall, Middle-Eastern immigrants, smart, honest, and friendly, with wives and children and deep hopes for their kids' futures.
In other words, the truest and best sort of Americans.
They also have a little brother. I say "little" because of his small stature, but I don't know what his age might be. He has Down's Syndrome. Over the past year or two, one of the brothers has been bringing him to work.
He's become a fixture at my corner, in his sweatshirt with a hood, his ready smile, and his obvious love toward all children who come into his view. My kids, for example.
Often, for whatever reason, after I pay his brother, I have given this man the change. I think it's just because I like him so much and he smiles so nicely at any gift, however tiny.
Tonight, anticipating my action, he pointed to a cardboard display, where you can give quarters to kids suffering from Muscular Dystrophy. When I gave him the quarter from my change, he carefully placed it into a slot on the display.
He pointed at the small girl whose photo appeared there. "Girl," he said, with a beautiful smile, "Nice."
-30-
2 comments:
I loved this story, David. Mentally challenged, indeed. We need heartwarming stories after hearing about the Walmart worker who got trampled in NY.
Carole
Thanks, Carole.
There are so many cynical stories out there, day after day, that even I, an embittered old journalist with my own complaints, needs to fight to remember to talk about where the core of humanity truly resides -- not in hate, greed, arrogance, or suspicion, but in love, compassion, tolerance and the realization that there are many, many things we still know nothing whatsoever about. To me, that's the beauty of being here. Discovering and rediscovering the simple truths all around us, which all too often seem ignored or dismissed as aberrations -- those are my remaining, enduring pleasures.
Post a Comment