It’s not a pretty bracelet. It’s made of colors I would never choose myself. It’s certainly not ‘cool’, as braded bracelets haven’t been for at least a decade now. It’s so poorly made that its weave has nearly completely come undone, leaving it bunched up on one side while three single strings struggle to keep the whole thing from falling off. It's too big for my wrist, which causes it to slide up and down my arm and often annoyingly onto the palm of my hand. It catches on corners of objects and constantly gets in the way. But, it fits me well.
I haven’t really had it very long. I got it in Paris back in February. I was walking up the stairs to Sacre Coeur where I was approached by a 20 year old man from Ghana. As those of you who have walked a busy street with me know, I will talk to anyone who genuinely approaches me. So he begins to tell me about his country and asks whether I have ever been there. While he is talking to me he politely asks me to hold onto three strings, which I do as I listen to him. He goes on to tell me of the beauty of his country in both nature and in his people. He asks me if I have heard the phrase Hakuna Matata, to which I think in my head, “Well yeah, who hasn’t seen The Lion King?” but I keep that to myself. He tells me of the struggles facing his country and asks me to strongly consider making a visit there. By the time he has finished his story, he is tying the bracelet he has been braiding during our conversation around my wrist. Now, I consider myself a fairly street smart fellow, but I will admit that I didn’t see the next part coming. Somewhere in the story I had convinced myself that this man was truly trying to get his message out to others in the oldest and most honest way, by just telling his story. But then I saw him hold out his hand and ask me for 20 Euros. I didn’t give him 20, but I gave him a fair price.
Again, as those who have walked a street with me know, I will always give a person money who genuinely asks me for it.
I am given a hard time about this quite often. I’ve heard all of the reasons not to give money to people on the street (And yes, they are people first. No matter what name you wish to call them). I will spare you the list of reasons, as I am sure you can all recite it to yourself by heart. I find it fascinating how much people think they know about strangers they see on the street. Suddenly everyone becomes an expert on the homeless. But have you ever seen one of these experts (maybe you fall into this category) have a genuine conversation with someone who approaches them, or have they/you gone out of their/your way to learn how exactly someone ended up homeless? Spare me the internet. Do you know an actual story? Those who know a story, know how far from an expert they are. Some of us are closer to ending up in need than others, and those who aren’t should be thankful, but everyone should objectively look at how false that wall is between ‘us’ and ‘them’ and how easy it could be to find ourselves or someone we know on the other side. Most of us have someone to lean on if things got bad. Be thankful for that.
So I am what society calls a ‘sucker’ when it comes to offering money to those who ask for it. I admit my belief in people has burned me at times. I have been taken advantage of much more than once. I have stood in line behind the man I gave money to outside the store as he buys his booze. So please don’t paint me as naïve. I’m just not ready to condemn all for the dishonesty of others. When talking about this, I am always reminded of a belief that a dear friend of mine told me about 6 or 7 years ago. She too is a ‘sucker’. Here’s what she said:
Zack, here’s how I see it. One day I will be at the pearly gates and Saint Peter will be there with the knowledge of the choices of my life. And he may pull me aside and say, “Hey, you remember that guy on the street corner that one day that asked you for money, and you gave it to him?” I will answer, “Yes.” “Well, he lied to your face and took that money and blew it on booze and cigarettes. Sorry to tell you this, but you got taken.”
She then told me this, “I can handle hearing that. I really can. In the broad scheme of things, that money didn’t really mean that much to me. But what I wouldn’t be able to handle is being at those same gates and having Peter say, “Hey, you remember that guy on the street corner that one day who asked you for money, and you didn’t give it to him? Well, he really needed it. He was feeling helpless. It wasn’t much, but it would have made a big difference for him that day.”
“That,” she said, “I can’t handle.”
Let us not forget how humbled someone must be to resign himself or herself to begging. To think that man, with his immense pride, would turn to this immediately is being ignorant to our nature.
So as I said, my bracelet isn’t pretty. It isn’t cool. It isn’t well crafted.
But it does fit me well.
