I was walking downtown late one afternoon on a gray, tired day. Near the corner by a small grocery store, I noticed a homeless man sitting on the curb. His coat was thin, his shoes were worn out, and his beard was more gray than brown.
I stopped, pulled out my wallet, and thumbed through it slowly. Finally, I slid out a ten-dollar bill. But before handing it over, I hesitated.
“If I give you this money,” I asked, “are you going to spend it on beer instead of food?”
He looked up, not offended—just tired. “No,” he said calmly. “I had to stop drinking years ago.”
That caught me off guard. I shifted my weight and tried again. “Well then, will you use it to go fishing instead of buying dinner?”
He let out a short laugh and shook his head. “No. I don’t waste time fishing. I spend all my time just trying to stay alive.”
That stuck with me, but I tried to lighten the moment one last time. “Alright, what about hunting? Will you spend this on hunting equipment?”
He stared at me like I was crazy. “Are you nuts? I haven’t gone hunting in twenty years!”
I nodded slowly, as if the pieces had finally fallen into place. I folded the ten-dollar bill back into my wallet and snapped it shut.
“Well,” I said, “in that case, I’m not going to give you the money.”
Confusion and disappointment crossed his face. “But,” I continued, “I am going to take you home. You can take a hot shower, use a clean towel, and have a terrific dinner cooked by my wife.”
He looked genuinely stunned. “Your wife? Won’t she be furious with you for bringing a homeless man home like that?”
I smiled, already picturing the scene. “Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “It’s important for her to see what a man looks like after he’s given up drinking, fishing, and hunting!”
