It Starts With Me
For the past four days (including today), I’ve eaten at least one Cliff Bar for breakfast, and a pizza slice for lunch. I usually take a box of pizza home for dinner, where I eat it happily while I do my thing(s) on my laptop.
Today, as I was walking home with two slices of cheese and one “slice of the day” aka a FRESH tomato, FRESH basil, and FRESH mozzarella pizza slice, I passed by a much older, African-American man whom one would assume to be homeless. Let’s call him “Cole.” I’ve been trained from a young age to ignore homeless people for reasons which I’m sure you can come up with yourself:
- Homeless people aren’t really homeless.
- Homeless people could get a job and a home if they just tried.
- Homeless people just use your money to buy alcohol. Brown bag, anyone?
- …Homeless people aren’t really homeless.
I don’t think of these statements as I’m passing by a homeless person; I just pass by without thinking. Yep, I’m guilty of this. It’s just easier. So today, I passed by. And as I continued walking past Cole, the sound…of the jingling…of the coins…in the cup…that Cole was holding…randomly caught my attention. I suddenly felt stupid. Not selfish, stupid. Of course!
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