On a Saturday night a couple of years ago, my family and I went to a ball game in Macon, so I was out much later that usual. I had to get gas before coming home so I stopped by one of the fine convenience stores near downtown. I had just gotten out of my Jeep and this sad looking guy approached me before I could get the door opened to my gas tank.
“Panhandler,” I thought. “This is why I hate to be near downtown Macon at night.”
“Can you spare something so I can get something to eat? All I have is this penny that I just found.” He insisted on showing it to me.
“Let me get the gas going and I’ll check,” I said.
You know that I cannot pass one of those red kettles at Christmas, but this is different. I know that the kettle is legitimate. You just don’t know about these guys; dirty clothes, matted hair, ugly scars, smelly. Will they actually eat? Will they dull their cravings for drugs or alcohol? What do you do?
I remember the first guy like this I ever saw standing at a traffic light on an off-ramp in Atlanta. He had a sign that said something like, “will work for food.” It disturbed me deeply, but I was in the wrong lane and didn’t stop. When I got to my friend’s business, I told him about it.
He said, “Oh yeah, he’s been there over a month. I stopped and offered him a job the first morning I saw him. He declined. I stop about once a week and offer him a job or a trip to a nearby Waffle House for breakfast. He must be making pretty good money. He only works during morning rush hour as people come to work. I figure he’ll be gone when his donations drop off.”
I had no idea.
I am somewhere between a cynic and an old-fashioned softie. I don’t have a problem putting dollars into the big guitar at the Mexican restaurant for the mariachi to play “Besame Mucho” or “Rancho Grande’,” but that is different. I know that the Mariachi members are professionals that depend on tips to make a living. I don’t know if these guys are professionals or just victims of bad luck (or bad choices.)
I finally got the pump started and fumbled through my pockets to see if I had a couple of ones to give him. I could only find one. I was not about to reach for my wallet, certainly not late at night in downtown Macon, Georgia. I did find several coupons that had been handed out at the ball game: some from Chick-Fil-A and a couple for a free Big Mac. I gave him one of each and a dollar for a drink. He smiled, said thanks and almost broke out in a trot toward McDonalds.
I didn’t stand there and watch to see if he actually went in. That would probably have been rude, distrustful, or even prying. Did he turn away before he made it to the golden arches? Did he go to sleep with cheese on his breath, or something stronger? Did I do the right thing? I don’t know the answer to any of these. Would I do it again? Yes, I would, and I am now saving my coupons. I never know when I might need one or two.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Old Friends
Wanda and Layne have been friends of ours for a long time. They have had a place up on Lake Oconee for years and after both of them retired, they became full-time “Lakers.”
One morning not too long ago, Wanda made an early morning trip to Publix to beat the crowd. Right there in the produce department, she saw a woman that she recognized, but couldn’t for the life of her, remember the woman’s name. She ducked down the bread aisle while trying to remember…. Was she from Wilkinson or Laurens County from her youth? Was she from Warner Robins? She knew it was there, but the name just wouldn’t come…..
Since Wanda is not one easily defeated, she finally resolved to hit this memory problem head-on when she came face-to-face with this unnamed friend in front of the salad dressing on aisle five.
“My goodness, how long has it been,” Wanda began, as she hugged her friend and pecked her on the cheek.
The friend with no name just smiled, tentatively.
Wanda continued, “I haven’t seen you in ages. I know I haven’t seen you since my newest grandchild was born.”
She then began to show her friend the latest pictures. They spent quite some time looking at the whole album that Wanda just happened to have with her; beginning at birth, all the way up to the family cookout, just a few weeks ago.
As they closed the book, Wanda fished one last time for a hint of this friend’s connection. “Well, are you living here at the lake now?”
“Oh no, Ralph and I pulled into Lake Oconee Campground and RV Park last night. We will only be here for a few days.”
Ralph. Ralph! Ralph? Wanda thought. That is no help. She must have remarried or something. I can’t picture this woman with a Ralph.
She stalled more, “well you and Ralph must drop by to see Layne and me while you are here.”
The friend nodded.
Finally Wanda confessed, “Your face hasn’t changed a bit. I’d recognize you anywhere. I know that I should know it like my own, but for the life of me, I can’t remember your name or where our lives crossed.”
The friend thought for a bit, smiled and asked, “Don’t you drive a green Ford Expedition?”
Wanda confessed that she did.
The friend continued, “Well, my name is Kathryn and I am from a small town right outside Detroit. I have never spent any time in Georgia in my life. You probably recognize me because you almost ran over me in the parking lot as I was walking in here this morning.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe it. You probably don’t think much of the South now, especially Georgians. You’re probably ready to leave right now and never come back.”
“Quite the contrary,” Kathryn replied, “My husband spent some time in the South before we married. He always talked about how different life was here and I never believed him. Ralph left early this morning to try his hand at fishing so I came here to get a pound of coffee and some bagels. I have been hugged, kissed, shown baby pictures, and invited to your house, all before breakfast. How can I be mad about that?”
“Oh Kate, you haven’t had breakfast yet? I know this little place with the best breakfast. They’ve got a great breakfast casserole and baked French toast to die for. If you want a little less, they have fresh local berries, homemade muffins, cat head biscuits, cane syrup from south Georgia and blackberry jam.”
Off they went together, two newly acquainted old friends. They had a lot of catching up to do. Bless their hearts…..
One morning not too long ago, Wanda made an early morning trip to Publix to beat the crowd. Right there in the produce department, she saw a woman that she recognized, but couldn’t for the life of her, remember the woman’s name. She ducked down the bread aisle while trying to remember…. Was she from Wilkinson or Laurens County from her youth? Was she from Warner Robins? She knew it was there, but the name just wouldn’t come…..
Since Wanda is not one easily defeated, she finally resolved to hit this memory problem head-on when she came face-to-face with this unnamed friend in front of the salad dressing on aisle five.
“My goodness, how long has it been,” Wanda began, as she hugged her friend and pecked her on the cheek.
The friend with no name just smiled, tentatively.
Wanda continued, “I haven’t seen you in ages. I know I haven’t seen you since my newest grandchild was born.”
She then began to show her friend the latest pictures. They spent quite some time looking at the whole album that Wanda just happened to have with her; beginning at birth, all the way up to the family cookout, just a few weeks ago.
As they closed the book, Wanda fished one last time for a hint of this friend’s connection. “Well, are you living here at the lake now?”
“Oh no, Ralph and I pulled into Lake Oconee Campground and RV Park last night. We will only be here for a few days.”
Ralph. Ralph! Ralph? Wanda thought. That is no help. She must have remarried or something. I can’t picture this woman with a Ralph.
She stalled more, “well you and Ralph must drop by to see Layne and me while you are here.”
The friend nodded.
Finally Wanda confessed, “Your face hasn’t changed a bit. I’d recognize you anywhere. I know that I should know it like my own, but for the life of me, I can’t remember your name or where our lives crossed.”
The friend thought for a bit, smiled and asked, “Don’t you drive a green Ford Expedition?”
Wanda confessed that she did.
The friend continued, “Well, my name is Kathryn and I am from a small town right outside Detroit. I have never spent any time in Georgia in my life. You probably recognize me because you almost ran over me in the parking lot as I was walking in here this morning.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe it. You probably don’t think much of the South now, especially Georgians. You’re probably ready to leave right now and never come back.”
“Quite the contrary,” Kathryn replied, “My husband spent some time in the South before we married. He always talked about how different life was here and I never believed him. Ralph left early this morning to try his hand at fishing so I came here to get a pound of coffee and some bagels. I have been hugged, kissed, shown baby pictures, and invited to your house, all before breakfast. How can I be mad about that?”
“Oh Kate, you haven’t had breakfast yet? I know this little place with the best breakfast. They’ve got a great breakfast casserole and baked French toast to die for. If you want a little less, they have fresh local berries, homemade muffins, cat head biscuits, cane syrup from south Georgia and blackberry jam.”
Off they went together, two newly acquainted old friends. They had a lot of catching up to do. Bless their hearts…..
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Hometown Heroes
While my wife and I were on our way out of town for a few days of rest, we drove through several small towns. I always enjoy reading the signs as we pass through. In one town we saw signs in front of two different churches declaring “Today is Hoyt Smith Day!” This little town wasn’t half the size of my hometown, maybe a couple of thousand people, so getting his name on two church signs was quite an accomplishment, I thought.
It turns out that Hoyt was celebrating his 100th birthday. He had spent most of them in that same community. He had farmed, gotten married, and raised a family there. But he had also been an asset. He had been a scout leader, active in the community and his church.
This made me think about my community and the many people that give of their time and talent to make it a better place to live.
My next door neighbor is on our city council. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that he hears a thousand complaints for every pat on the back that he gets. I’ve never heard him complain about it. In fact, when he mentions his responsibilities at all, it is usually talking about something that we could do to make our town a better place to live.
Can you think of a single pastor that gets the respect, recognition, (and pay) that they truly deserve?
There is a church near my home that has a very well kept lawn. There is always a nice mix of blooming flowers throughout the warmer months. I just know that the elderly man that maintains them is a volunteer. I say that because I don’t think that they could afford to pay him for all the time he invests. Our church had one of those men. For years, Eddie Edwards made sure that the weeds were few, and the grass was green. I don’t ever remember telling him how much I appreciated that.
I have no idea who the scout leaders and recreation ball coaches in my community are. They give of their time to help mold the leaders of tomorrow.
The children’s choir and high school band may sound great in their spring concert, but some hardworking director has had to listen to hours of pretty awful, ear-bleeding stuff to get them to that point.
The list goes on. We have heroes all around us. There are school bus drivers, teachers, policemen; just a lot of people that do jobs that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to do. I’m glad that they are able, and willing to do those jobs. We should say something to let them know that we appreciate what they do.
Last weekend, they presented Mr. Smith with a proclamation that talked about his being a kind and generous man, who brings joy and happiness to his many friends, neighbors, and family members. It talked about the example he has made of his life. It said that he makes this world a better place in which to live. Of course, it had all the “whereas and therefore” words that proclamations always have.
I wasn’t there, but I suspect that Mr. Hoyt wondered what all the fuss was about and kinda wished that they hadn’t gone to all that trouble. Hometown heroes are just that way. I’m glad that they did. He deserved it, I’m sure, and it made me think about the hometown heroes right here in my little part of the world.
It turns out that Hoyt was celebrating his 100th birthday. He had spent most of them in that same community. He had farmed, gotten married, and raised a family there. But he had also been an asset. He had been a scout leader, active in the community and his church.
This made me think about my community and the many people that give of their time and talent to make it a better place to live.
My next door neighbor is on our city council. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on the fact that he hears a thousand complaints for every pat on the back that he gets. I’ve never heard him complain about it. In fact, when he mentions his responsibilities at all, it is usually talking about something that we could do to make our town a better place to live.
Can you think of a single pastor that gets the respect, recognition, (and pay) that they truly deserve?
There is a church near my home that has a very well kept lawn. There is always a nice mix of blooming flowers throughout the warmer months. I just know that the elderly man that maintains them is a volunteer. I say that because I don’t think that they could afford to pay him for all the time he invests. Our church had one of those men. For years, Eddie Edwards made sure that the weeds were few, and the grass was green. I don’t ever remember telling him how much I appreciated that.
I have no idea who the scout leaders and recreation ball coaches in my community are. They give of their time to help mold the leaders of tomorrow.
The children’s choir and high school band may sound great in their spring concert, but some hardworking director has had to listen to hours of pretty awful, ear-bleeding stuff to get them to that point.
The list goes on. We have heroes all around us. There are school bus drivers, teachers, policemen; just a lot of people that do jobs that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t want to do. I’m glad that they are able, and willing to do those jobs. We should say something to let them know that we appreciate what they do.
Last weekend, they presented Mr. Smith with a proclamation that talked about his being a kind and generous man, who brings joy and happiness to his many friends, neighbors, and family members. It talked about the example he has made of his life. It said that he makes this world a better place in which to live. Of course, it had all the “whereas and therefore” words that proclamations always have.
I wasn’t there, but I suspect that Mr. Hoyt wondered what all the fuss was about and kinda wished that they hadn’t gone to all that trouble. Hometown heroes are just that way. I’m glad that they did. He deserved it, I’m sure, and it made me think about the hometown heroes right here in my little part of the world.
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