Categorized under: connections

Nayri, Los Angeles – I did not make his day. He made mine.

He was standing at the corner of one busy thoroughfare, holding a note: “Homeless, please help.” He was clean shaven, and looked like he had recently gone into foreclosure. His clothes were clean, but his looks were desperate.

Normally I ignore these people. As much as I care to help, traffic moves fast. Besides, I don’t want to encourage beggars. One can always find an honest day’s work if the ego is not in the way. This one looked like calamity had struck him while he was sleeping.

I had half a package of sesame sticks in my car, within reach. I keep these as security from hunger. I hastened to hand it over to him before the light turned green. His “thank you” shook me. He sounded as if he needed it desperately and my miserly, half package sticks were a blessing from God. I did not make his day. He made mine.

If only I had had a sealed, full package . . .

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  1. I wrote this piece. While I appreciate this story’s publication, the proper way would have been to ask for my permission. This is a recent story, does not date back to February 2009.

    Mary Terzian
    Author: Politically Homeless . . .

    Mary Terzian
    September 23rd, 2016