I sit behind the tempered glass window of my car, staring out into the world and over at the man on the corner. He’s holding a sign with thick black lettering drawn, begging for some help. I don’t help him, and I don’t look away. I don’t give him the dignity of being human by not acknowledging this man needs help. I just sit in the safety of my car while the air conditioner blows and gawk at him, relieved that that isn’t me.
He is a man. Made from the image of God, he stands before me with little fanfare from those of us sitting around him. He is someone’s father, brother, uncle, and friend. And yet I do not lift a finger to help him. I sit here, protected behind my tinted film attached to the very glass that acts as a force field shielding my pity but none for him. The pity I hold for myself, for hoping he’ll go away.
I pray that someway, somehow he’ll find his direction in life without me really knowing if he ever will. I’ll just assume he will walk the path of the righteous man because, deep down, that will make me feel better, even if it does him no good that I am the one comforted by the image of him getting food and a good night’s rest in my imaginary world without realizing what it must be like to truly walk in his shoes. I’ll just assume he’s a drunk or drug addict to get me past this point. Hey, whatever helps me sleep at night.
I wish this light would change so I can ignore his plight without actually having to look at him. This damn red light is like a modern-day cell phone for me to connect with him, but I don’t want to. With each second that passes, I have an opportunity to help him, much like answering that ringing phone to simply say “hello” and ask if there is anything I can do. Still, I just want him to go away, but this light. This damn light stands in my way of a clean conscience. I just want to move on and forget he’s there, but the reality is he is here. He isn’t going anywhere until I get the green traffic signal and, at least for me, get rid of seeing him and the despair that this life has brought upon him.
I decided to examine him as he stood before me. I Judge him and his position in life. His gaze looks past the hordes of cars that are at a standstill. His dignity is laid out for the entire world to see. The red light is holding everyone captive in the front row seating of their automobiles. But there is no shame. He needs the help and isn’t too proud to announce it with a sign. I can see he’s tired. Yet it comforts me to assume he’ll sleep. He looks hungry. But I think he will get enough money to eat later, as I will do later to satisfy my own hunger pangs. He appears thirsty. But I hypothesize he’ll buy alcohol with my hard-earned money. The exact cash that I’ll use to spend on alcohol to enjoy a relaxing drink after a hard day’s work. He looks… human. Same as me, but I’ll think less of him because he’s where he is, and I am where I am.
Life was hard for this one. Like me, he was brought into this world with the hopes and dreams of the ones that held him first. He was loved unconditionally, and even in those brief moments, he was introduced into this world. Though he was abandoned by the ones who should have cared for him the most and for the longest amount of time, the ones he depends on have turned their back on him, leaving him to fend for himself.
I live my life by observing from afar. I usually don’t pay attention to the man behind that sign on these street corners because life is easier to ignore. But I can’t with him. Oddly, he looks familiar. He seems like someone I love. He could be my family or my friend. And yet, I do nothing for him because I do not know him enough to go out of my way to care.
But I should care, and his face should be familiar enough for me to know him because the man behind the sign is my brother, and yet that isn’t enough for me to bother giving him a hand. Not even an extra hand to hold the sign. Or standing beside him behind this sign, supporting him with love and understanding that everything will be okay. When I think about this deeply, in all reality, that man is me. And in fact, my family seems to be the ones ignoring me and my struggles.
Spontaneously, the light turns green, and I’m off. I know deep down the man behind the sign will somehow be okay. That’s what I’ll assume anyway, much like my family does today.
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