He gave to me when he had so little to give
by Halle Styndl, '12
I believe in the general, unwavering goodness in the individual man. I believe in random acts of kindness. I believe that, looking back, the little things were actually big things. I believe that one quiet, hopeful word can have the power to drown out the drone of one thousand voices speaking in unison. I believe small acts of good can last for much longer than initially imagined.
One day, my mother was walking home from her waitressing job in downtown Cleveland. It was unseasonably warm that day, and she walked with her coat unbuttoned. She walked this route every day, and every day she would give a homeless man a dollar. |
He was quiet, my mother told me, a little shy. He didn’t approach anyone asking for change, but sat quietly on a bench and watched the people go by. They built a sort of friendship, this man and my mother. They did not exchange names, but they would trade “good mornings” for “hellos”, and smiles for waves. On this particular day, as my mother walked up to the man, he saw that she was pregnant. He handed her dollar back to her and said “Keep it for the baby.”
I’ve grown up with this story of this man who I don’t have a name or a face for, who was looking out for me before I was even born. As a teenager with a minimum wage job, I don’t really have any extra money. I experience an unparalleled delight every time I discover a dollar that went through the washer, or a quarter in my wallet that I overlooked. I usually celebrate by immediately spending this newfound wealth on something from the lunchroom at school. But I have a home. I have a job, I’m being educated, I have a safe, warm place to sleep at night. I don’t know much about this man, other than the small amount of information my mother has passed on. I don’t know how he became homeless, or what brought him to sit on that bench every day. All I know is that he gave to me even when he had so little to give. While I am free to spend my dollars on greasy French fries, I have a feeling he could have used the money more. But he didn’t. He gave it back to my mother, and became added to the list of people who watched out for me before I was born. I carry a small piece of his story everywhere I go, and I hope life has rewarded him for his kindness.
This story taught me more of a lesson than any fairytale or guest speaker ever could as a child. As a student, or I suppose just as a young person in general, every day my eyes are opened wider to the unbelievable crimes that humans can commit against another. Genocides, torture, murder. Broken families, corrupt politicians, people who are starving while others have such an excess of food that they have to throw it away. I often feel that we are simply breaking this beautiful world, and any efforts to stop the damage becomes twisted and lost and useless. But then someone does something so small and beautiful that I stubbornly refuse to believe that we as a species are simply a lost cause. A stranger will give me a kind word, and I put it in my pocket until I can give it to someone else.
I’ve grown up with this story of this man who I don’t have a name or a face for, who was looking out for me before I was even born. As a teenager with a minimum wage job, I don’t really have any extra money. I experience an unparalleled delight every time I discover a dollar that went through the washer, or a quarter in my wallet that I overlooked. I usually celebrate by immediately spending this newfound wealth on something from the lunchroom at school. But I have a home. I have a job, I’m being educated, I have a safe, warm place to sleep at night. I don’t know much about this man, other than the small amount of information my mother has passed on. I don’t know how he became homeless, or what brought him to sit on that bench every day. All I know is that he gave to me even when he had so little to give. While I am free to spend my dollars on greasy French fries, I have a feeling he could have used the money more. But he didn’t. He gave it back to my mother, and became added to the list of people who watched out for me before I was born. I carry a small piece of his story everywhere I go, and I hope life has rewarded him for his kindness.
This story taught me more of a lesson than any fairytale or guest speaker ever could as a child. As a student, or I suppose just as a young person in general, every day my eyes are opened wider to the unbelievable crimes that humans can commit against another. Genocides, torture, murder. Broken families, corrupt politicians, people who are starving while others have such an excess of food that they have to throw it away. I often feel that we are simply breaking this beautiful world, and any efforts to stop the damage becomes twisted and lost and useless. But then someone does something so small and beautiful that I stubbornly refuse to believe that we as a species are simply a lost cause. A stranger will give me a kind word, and I put it in my pocket until I can give it to someone else.
About the author
As a member of the PSL class of 2012, Halle Styndl served at the Lake County ESC Vocational Training Center. She also participated in the Topics in Special Education Plunge. After graduating from Perry High School, Halle studied Early Childhood and Special Education at Edinboro University of Pennsylvania.
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