From Christmas, 2004. This year I have contributed to a project to supply warm, comfy shoes for the homeless in Atlanta. I often think about my friend at the underpass, and wonder if he is still there. He might be the recipient of a new pair of shoes this Christmas!
The rain is coming down hard, and the wind is whistling up Spring Street from under the I-20 / Spring Street interchange. What is left of Hurricane Jeanne is storming up and down Atlanta streets as I depart the office parking deck to head home for the day. The traffic line is longer than usual for this time of day, as people like me leave work a little early to try to beat the rush hour traffic mess. As I inch along Spring Street, my car tires make waves in the standing water, and I cautiously keep my eye on the vehicles in front of me. I see him ahead, standing under the bridge.
He is one of Atlanta’s homeless, and he has staked a claim on this small piece of downtown real estate. Most afternoons he is there, waving to passersby and crisply saluting the cars of commuters he recognizes. On the first few days of my commute, I notice that every now and then a motorist rolls down a window and passes a dollar bill or a fistful of coins into his hand or paper cup. I also notice his smile and wave and cheerful demeanor. After a week or so, he begins honoring me with his salute. The first time I hand him a dollar bill as I pass by, he flashes a broad yellow-toothed smile, and gives me a “God Bless you.” I mumble “God Bless You, too” back at him. Every day since, he waves to me even before my car is fully in the underpass, and then salutes me as I drive by, even if I don’t slow down to hand him a dollar or a handful of change. On days when he isn’t at his post, I miss him. During the days of Hurricane Frances and Ivan, he isn’t on duty under the bridge, and I find myself worrying about his well-being.
Today, a horrible, rainy, windy afternoon, I see him out there wearing a tattered canary yellow vinyl poncho, which is whipping around him in the wind, his backpack a protruding hump underneath the poncho. I quickly grab my wallet and search for a dollar bill. I slow down as I near him and roll down my window. “It isn’t much,” I say to him as I place the money into his hand. “God Bless you, have a nice day,” he says to me. Then, he honors me with his salute and a grin. “God bless you, too,” I smile as I turn my car onto the interstate entrance ramp in the pouring rain.
Some people may think the homeless people of our city are worthless deadbeats or hopeless addicts. I don’t know anything about my new friend. I only know that I feel blessed everyday as the recipient of his smile and salute, and I believe that an angel is watching me as I follow the cars in front of me onto the interstate to go home.
May you be blessed with your own special angels this Christmas season!
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