If you follow me, you’ve probably read about my being interested in people who the worldly world has no interest in, and too, you’ve probably read me tweet about never turning down people with cups in their hand at highway exits, or those old men that stop and ask me for money or food and how the one old man who hung out where I would frequent-would get me every time for money. And every time, I would take him inside and buy him a meal and/or hand him whatever I could so he could be free to do with it-whatever he wishes.
I strongly feel it’s never our business negate what these people are doing with their money that they so audaciously may ask for, and as well, I think it’s unscrupulously tasteless to berate or judge them-especially when some of us “normal people” are 3 blessed opportunities, 2 paychecks, or 1 helping hand that pulled us up from the bootstraps and saved us from being just where they are.
I just happen to think these people are “Jesus” in that, I feel like one of them that walks up on me and that I sit down at the library table or library steps and talk to all the time, are Jesus in disguise. I say that because I have yet to meet any one of them that didn’t have an amazing story and past or who I left conversations with that didn’t teach me something that I took with me that either changed my life or helped it, and as well-suggested certain books to read that the average person thumbing their nose up them and kicking their feet past them never would even guess they had the capacity to read and comprehend.
My stories about my neighborhood disadvantaged, homeless, “functioning” mentally disabled friends etc. are endless-and after I talk with so many of them, I turn around feeling honored and humbled that they even know my name.
They tell of me their family dysfunctions (stories that sound a lot yours and mine).
Some of them eventually tell me how they ended up where they are, and why.
I have one that greets me as: “Madame”-(carefully pronounciating the two syllables separately and as if he is acting out his once having been Knighted, or a Englander at some moment in time in his life at time), so I curtsy him.
I have one that gets mad at me if (when he asks me to buy him coffee) I don’t throw the money for a pack of cigarettes in. He’ll roll his eyes and throw
