| This is a short story. No if's, and's, or but's about it. It's short.
Not very long at all. I really don't have a definitive answer as to why
it's so short. Maybe it's because I wanted to get straight to the
point. Maybe that's all there is to tell. Or maybe, just maybe, it's
because no matter how short the story is, it's the lesson that will
last forever.
This story begins at the End. Well, sort off.
Hmmm... Maybe that's why it's so short? Whatever. Back to the ending.
You see, there's a student named Jim and he's about to give an oral
essay in his sociology class. It's a final. Very important stuff. And I
can tell you that he gets an "A". But that's not what's important. At
least not THE most important
thing for Jim anymore. Wait, there I go again, getting ahead of myself.
Any way's, I only have a few minutes before Jim starts his essay too
give you the background story. So how about we start right now.
Much like the rest of this story. This is going to be short and sweet.
One paragraph at the most. OK maybe two. Let's see. Let's start with
Jim, the man who's essay will take up the most of this story. Jim was
your typical upper middle class suburbinite with an A Type personality
that wanted to be CEO of a company. He laughed at the old people in the
park doing Tai Chi but secretly had always wanted to try it. He had a
soft spot for kids but had always hated lazy people. Which he pretty
much deemed everyone else to be. He also wanted to make a lot of money
and live the life of luxury. By any means necessary. That's pretty
typical right?
Now let's set the table for whom the essay
was written about. Pierre the Bum. That's right, I said, Pierre the
Bum. You see, Pierre really thought he was french. And who knows, maybe
he really was. But most of the kids at the college just thought he was
crazy. I mean, he didn't even have an accent. But he did have great
stories to tell. And he told them to whoever would listen. Some of the
students did, some gave him money, but most just decided that he wasn't
there at all.
Which brings us to today. And the essay that
Jim wrote just late last night. In fact he just walked up to the front
of the class to give his oral essay. See I told you I only had a few
minutes:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Material
things are not gifts but apologies for gifts. The only true gift is a
portion of thyself." Ralph Waldo Emerson was onto something.
Unfortunately for me, I found out the hard way. Fortunately for you, I
will never forget that lesson.
This isn't my original oral
essay. I had already finshed my original one titled "The Climate of
International Business" a full month ago. I've actually spent the last
two weeks practicing and tweaking it. I knew I was going to get an "A"
because that's what I do. School was my ticket to the fast lane. I
always knew I was going to be successful no matter where I ended up.
What I didn't know was that I would be "successful" in a way I never
thought possible.
Three days ago I had set up a lunch with a
former professor of mine and we were going to go over the original oral
essay I had written for this final. I just wanted, no needed, to hear
from someone from the faculty that it was worthy of my standards. But
something funny happened on the way to the cafe. I was running 15
minutes late. So when I finally found a parking spot I parked my car,
reached into my pocket to pay the meter, and pulled out a piece of
lint. I couldn't believe that I didn't have any change to put into the
meter. I cursed, yelled, and hit the inanimate object. And just like a
scene from an old western movie, the sidewalks were empty. No one was
around. That's when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Pierre
the bum. And he had $2.15 in change which he calmy handed over to me.
Then he walked away mumbling something. By the time the shock wore off
he was a good 20 feet away from me so I yelled "I'll pay you back,
thanks!"
Now, let me explain the relationship I had with
Pierre prior to this day. We didn't have one. As far as I was concerned
he wasn't important enough to acknowledge. He was lazy, unmotivated,
and probably deserved to be where he was. I did give him some credit
though because I had also seen how he worked, almost every student here
has seen it. Brilliant for a bum if you ask me. And just in case you
haven't seen him at work, let me explain to you what I mean: Pierre
would approach you with a hand out to shake, and ask if you would like
to hear a story. Sometimes he would go straight into the story. If you
hung around to hear what he had to say, you would find yourself at the
end of the story with Pierre waving his hat upside down in front of
your face asking you if you had any spare change. Most people put some
change in there, some just laughed and walked away. But either way he
always said "Merci de l'écoute, au revoir".
My
lunch was a disaster. Not only was I late but I couldn't get some
thoughts out of my head. $2.15 meant nothing to me. But it had to mean
the world to him. How many stories did he tell? How long did it take to
make that money? Was that all he had? Why did he give it to me? Another
thought entered my mind, if a multi-millionaire donates a full's day
income of $150,000 or a bum who lives off change donates all the money
in his pocket of $2.15, who gave more? I couldn't think straight. So I
ended the lunch early to find Pierre and ask him those questions.
Now, let me ask you a question. What will you be doing today at 3:30?
How about 4:30? Some of you may be getting out of class. Maybe even
getting some coffee. Well, I can tell you exactly where most of the
homeless people will be. You see at 3:30pm every Friday the toy store
on Lincoln Ave. puts all the cardboard they got from that day's
shipment on the outside of thier delivery doors. And that's where
Pierre would go every Friday to get his home. That's where he got his
living room, his kitchen, and his bedroom for the rest of the week. I
can also tell you that at 4:30pm they will all head to St. Stephen's
for what I was told was the best meal in town. How do I know all of
this? Well, because I found Pierre after lunch that day and we talked.
We talked for 6 hours straight.
Pierre was one of the
nicest people I have ever met. He was just too happy to talk to me. He
seemed excited. I could also tell he had a huge heart. Everyone there
seemed to love him and he returned that love. It was nothing like the
superficial friendships I had at school. This was genuine. He said he
wanted me to meet some of his friends. He then offered me some water
from his water bottle. I declined as nice as I could.
I
learned a lot in those 6 hours. We talked about how he lived in a
community. About how in that community they took care of eachother. I
felt it too, because the whole time I was there I felt like an
outsider. Eventhough he introduced me to some of his friends and most
of them were cordial, I was not a part of thier community. I was never
and probably would never be let into that circle completely.
One of the biggest surprises was all the different reasons people had
for living on the street. Sure, you had your drug addicts, run away's,
and mentally ill people. But you also had a college graduate who's
business went under. You had the man who lost everything when his
house burnt down. The woman who got fired, then injured, and just
couldn't get up from that. Stories like these were repeated one after
the other. That's when it hit me. These people were not lazy for the
most part. They were people who fell through the cracks. And it could
happen to any of us.
The biggest lesson I learned was the
most important one of all. The reason Pierre told stories was to, yes,
get some money. Afterall you have survive off of something right? The
other reason was because he wanted to get acknowledged. He wanted
validation. You see, one of the biggest gripes that the community of
homeless people had was that they felt invisible to the rest of the
world. Person after person there told me that they wanted to feel like
they mattered or counted. Too often they told me that people acted like
they weren't there. They walked passed them, walked over them, or
simply walked on the other side of the street. I was one of those
people and it hit me hard to hear them say that. But Pierre found a way
to be heard. A way to make people see him. Genius. He wanted to make a
connection with other human biengs, that's why he told the stories.
After our long engaging talk I told Pierre I had to go but that I would
be back the next day to pay him back. I also told him that I wanted to
hear one of his famous stories when I returned. I never got a chance to
hear one.
Pierre died that night. Two days ago to be exact.
There was no funeral, no viewing. He died simply because it got too
cold that night. He died because his cardboard house didn't have the
insulation that my walls have. He died because he couldn't climb out of
that crack he fell through.
I found out when I went back
the next day to pay him back. His friend Chris told me. I couldn't
believe it. I even felt some guilt. What if that $2.15 would have
bought him a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. What if I gave him the
twenty I had in my wallet instead of wanting to give hime exactly what
he gave me. (Jim paused here, he had never cried in front of other people before) I
didn't want to believe it. Here's this guy just trying to connect with
people, trying to make people laugh or smile, and willing to give all
the money he had to a complete stranger and he's dead.
That's when it hit me. Pierre's the one who gave me a gift. Not the
$2.15. No that wasn't it. He gave me a piece of him. He allowed me into
his world. He made a friend. He made a connection. And I in turn gained
an invaluable life lesson. People are priceless. A chance meeting with
a loving human being was worth more than any amount of money in the
world. I felt rich.
I still want to make a lot of money. I
still want to graduate and live a good life. But I no longer want to do
it by any means neccessary. And I want to share my wealth with those
less fortunate. I want to give a portion of myself. I want to be loved
liked Pierre was with his friends. And if your wondering about the
questions I wanted to ask Pierre when I left my lunch I only asked one
because the answer told me everything. I aksed him why he gave me the
$2.15. He told me he gave it too me because he could. Thank you Pierre.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And
with that, Jim walked down the center aisle of the classroom, opened
the door, and left. He didn't know what grade he was going to get and
frankly he didn't care. What did matter to him was that everyone in
that classroom heard what he had to say.
And that's the end
of my short story. I hope you liked it. Now I know that money has no
value up here but old habits are hard to break. So if you have any
change to spare, anything, I would appreciate it if you would put it
into my hat... Merci de l'écoute, au revoir.
|
Afghanistan
I have interested you that write to me on ID fleshkasherbet@yahoo.com.
With impatience I will wait for your letter.
California
United States
United Kingdom
http://groups.zorpia.com/FOOTBALL_CLUBS
Riyadh
Saudi Arabia
about a wonderful,touching
and a kind leader our
prophet MOHAMMED
(peace Be UpOn Him)
just check this site , it's in many Languages:)
http://www.islamway.com/mohammad/ :)
take care & have a nice day :)
SuSu (",)
Texas
United States
Honolulu, Hawaii
United States
HEY THERE... JUS WANT'D TO COM' UP ON HERE... AND WISH YAH'LL A HAPPY WEEK... YAH'LL TAKE CARE NOW... AIGHTS... STAY UP... LATES
Kentucky
United States
Sendin' some love back! :) Take care!
Kentucky
United States
Honolulu, Hawaii
United States
hey thanx fo' add... well i'll see yah'll around