Lately, with all that’s going on in my life, I’ve been using food as a crutch. You know what I mean, it’s that or heroin. Anyway, as I walked into Starbucks for the second time of the day, a young man with dreads was asking for money from a wheelchair. He mumbled, “Any change so I can get a room?” I walked by him thinking, “I can’t even take care of my homeless son.”
As I stood there and waited for my hot chocolate with extra extra whipped cream to be made, I watched him and noticed his shriveled legs. I said to myself, “The wheelchair wasn’t a prop. He does need help.” I happened to have a good sized hand full of change in my pocket and I went out and unloaded it in his cupped hands. He thanked me and I said, “No problem. Can I ask, ‘How did you land up in this chair?”
Here is his story; he was selling candy for his church down on Fruitvale Blvd., “It was cold that evening so I had my hoodie on and only these dreads were exposed. A guy came up from behind and began firing. I fell down and rolled onto my back. He was about to give the final head shot when he realized I wasn’t the right guy. His eyes opened wide and he ran away.” I replied, “A case of mistaken identity on steroids. Wow!” He replied, “I should have been killed after all those bullets. I’m blessed.” I replied, “I know you are blessed.”
We talked for a few minutes and I came to the realization that that man is as close as I’ve come to a man of God. This too will pass.