A Sunday morning conversation
This past Sunday morning at about 10, as I was walking down Connecticut Avenue just south of the National Zoo, I met a man who asked me for a dollar.
He was walking my way. “I will give you a dollar,” I said, “if you talk with me as we walk.”
“I’m fine with that,” said the man. I handed him a $5 bill because it was the first bill out of my pocket, and asked, “Why are you doing this? What led you to be out here asking people for money?”
The man looked a little overwhelmed, not sure where to begin. Before he could get much out, I stopped him.
“Let’s do it this way. I’ll just ask a few questions, ok?” He said that was ok with him. “How old are you?”
“Fifty-nine years old.”
“When did you last work?”
“Oh, that’s hard to say. I can’t remember really.”
“Was it longer than ten years ago?”
“Oh yes, you see, I am a disabled vet.”
“Oh, what conflict were you in?”
“I did not go into any conflict. I was at Fort Bragg.”
“What service were you in?”
“The United States Army.”
“How did you become disabled?”
A look of concern came over his face.
“We don’t have to talk about that, if it’s too painful to remember.”
“No it’s not too painful. It’s just a long story, and my head is not all right.”
“Ok then. I actually don’t want to hear the long story anyway, so let’s skip that. Where do you live?”
“Right up the street there at the _____. It’s a group home. Very good too.”
“As a disabled vet, do you get any benefits?
“Yes. I get $150 every Friday.”
“How do you get it?”
“In the mail, UPS. A check every Friday.”
“Do you deposit your check?”
“Oh yes, at the BBT bank over on Columbia Road. Do you know the one?”
“Yes I do. Do you have to pay rent at your home?”
“No.”
“Do you have your own room?”
“Yes.”
“How about meals?”
“We get meals as part of the home.”
“Do you ever go to an emergency feeding place — you know, a soup kitchen or food pantry?”
“No, don’t have too.”
“Do you have a church?”
“I don’t have a church, but I go to the one right up there. It’s Catholic.”
“Yes I know that one — it’s very nice. There’s a service at 5:30 on Sundays.” (I was about to tell him that the 5:30 service is attended by nice looking young people, including young women, but I stopped myself.)
“I read the Bible,” he said with some emphasis.
“What about healthcare? Are you getting good care?”
“Very good. I just got out of the hospital. You see, I am limping, but it is better.”
“The care was good?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Say now, listen. I walk down this street often. I go all the way down to DuPont Circle, and when I do, I always run into at least five guys like you asking for a dollar. Do you think they are getting a regular check like you?”
“If they are wearing clothes, they are getting something, I am sure.”
“What about at your group home? Anyone there also come out here and ask people for money?”
“Well …”
“How many live there?”
“Twenty — men and women.”
“How many come out ask people for money on the street?”
“Three, maybe four.”
“Who runs the home?”
“Uh, its called ___ . Mr. ____ runs it.”
“Are you sober?”
“Yes, I am.”
“One day at a time.”
“That’s right. One step at a time.”
“All right. It has been nice talking to you. What’s your name?”
“Dave.”
“My name is Robert. Thanks very much for talking with me, Dave. Here’s another $5. Thanks a lot for talking with me this morning and take care.”
We shook hands, and I noticed for the first time that he had a nice smile and his jacket looked warm and so did his knit hat. He started for a small convenience store, and I went on my way with a small satisfied smile on my face, but before I was ten paces away he called out:
“Hey, Robert.”
I turned around.
“All those good things I told you about come from God. You know that, right? They come from God.”
I walked back to shake his hand again, and because I always say too much, I said, “And from the Lord Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah, him too.”
First published in the Washington Examiner on December 5, 2016.
