I can’t get him out of my mind.
As we parked at the Kentucky Fried Chicken, I saw his thin frame limp into the brightly lit restaurant. His bulky winter coat, knit cap and backpack seemed out of place on this fairly warm winter night. His attire made me wonder if he had a home. He definitely did not have a car.
We ordered our thirty hot wings and mashed potatoes and then sat at a table to wait for our order. Our time was limited. The football game resumed in ten minutes.
Across the room, he sat alone in the corner booth. His weathered face was golden from the sun. His wrinkles told a tale of a long, hard life, but his smile denied their story. His countenance brought joy into the room.
With each bite of his order of fries, he closed his eyes as if he were eating lobster and steak tartare. He savored each ounce of his minute meal.
How long had it been since he had eaten? Where did he live? How could I help?
Did he need my help?
The same thoughts and feelings penetrated my heart similar to those I experience when I pass ragged men on corners holding cardboard signs. He held no sign. But maybe his meal had been provided by someone who had actually stopped to give him a dollar.
My husband and I walked out of the restaurant and headed back to a comfortable, warm home. And I made a resolution to actually do something next time.
What do you do in these situations?