Several weekends ago, I was rushing around trying to do some
Valentine's Day shopping. I was stressed out and not thinking
very fondly of the weather right then. It was dark, cold, and
wet in the parking lot.
As I was loading my car up, I noticed that I was missing a
receipt that I might need later. So mumbling under my breath, I
retraced my steps to the mall entrance. As I was searching the
wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet sobbing.
The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12-
years-old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just
wearing a ragged flannel shirt to protect him from the cold
night's chill.
Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.
Thinking that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him
what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large
family. He had three brothers and four sisters. His father had
died when he was 9-years-old. His mother was poorly educated
and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to support
her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed to skimp and
save two hundred dollars to buy her children some Valentine's
Day presents (since she didn't manage to get them anything on
Christmas).
The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way
to her second job. He was to use the money to buy presents for
all his siblings and save just enough to take the bus home. He
had not even entered the mall, when an older boy grabbed one
of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into the night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
The boy said, "I did."
"And nobody came to help you?" I queried.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. "How
loud did you scream?" I inquired.
The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor
boy cry for help.
So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
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