Just An Old Bootlegger
Growing up in a small town brought all kinds of people to our doortep. I don't know what his real name was but I can vividy see him walking down the dirt road in front of our house, wearing the same greasy long sleeved blue shirt, same filthy green pants tucked into his worn out cowboy boots. His hair was plastered down to his head with skunk grease. When he saw anyone he'd flash the biggest smile he could muster, stop right there in the middle of the road and proceed to bow. He'd giggle and point to us kids, whistle at the five or six dogs that constantly followed him and skip on down the road. Don't you ever wonder what happened to those people who carve out a nitch in your brain and remain there the rest of your life? As I think of him now I tell myself he must have been someone's son, someone's beau, or even the slim chance he was someone's papa. Had he traveled around the world, written love letters to the wind, kissed a maiden by the barn, slept out under the stars, or cried when his favorite dog died? Had he made an impression upon some waiting dreamer, set foot inside a church, eaten homemade ice cream? Just who was this man and why do I think of him tenderly? Only God knows.
Whatever you do, DON'T STARE!
Our house was only a block or so from the railroad tracks. Occasionally a hobo would knock on our front door asking for food. I always found them fascinating. My mouth watered with questions that I longed to ask them but Mother would have none of that! "Don't stare at him!" she'd say. It was like she thought maybe if we had eye contact with any of them, they'd put an evil spell on us!
That was my assumption anyway, and at 10 years old I thought I knew everything! I remember one of them came to the house one day and when he knocked on the door, I ran and hid behind the curtains. This made Mom furious! "Don't ever do that again!" she said sternly. "You just never know. It might be Jesus in disguise!" I was amazed and in awe! The thought had never crossed my mind! Why, I wondered? From then on when I saw one heading toward our house I'd make an extra effort to give him the best sandwich I could make! If we had leftover mashed potatoes he'd get a mustard, mashed potato and onion sandwich. Or maybe a mashed up brown beans with mustard and onion, or even peanut butter and honey stirred together! Oh, I could think up all kinds of exciting things to make. You know the funny part? They always ate it and said a big thank you. It made me feel proud of myself. Not only had I fed them but Jesus and I secretly knew He liked the peanut butter and honey sandwich best. Next time you see a homeless person, don't turn up your nose dear. It might be Jesus in disguise.
Growing up in a small town brought all kinds of people to our doortep. I don't know what his real name was but I can vividy see him walking down the dirt road in front of our house, wearing the same greasy long sleeved blue shirt, same filthy green pants tucked into his worn out cowboy boots. His hair was plastered down to his head with skunk grease. When he saw anyone he'd flash the biggest smile he could muster, stop right there in the middle of the road and proceed to bow. He'd giggle and point to us kids, whistle at the five or six dogs that constantly followed him and skip on down the road. Don't you ever wonder what happened to those people who carve out a nitch in your brain and remain there the rest of your life? As I think of him now I tell myself he must have been someone's son, someone's beau, or even the slim chance he was someone's papa. Had he traveled around the world, written love letters to the wind, kissed a maiden by the barn, slept out under the stars, or cried when his favorite dog died? Had he made an impression upon some waiting dreamer, set foot inside a church, eaten homemade ice cream? Just who was this man and why do I think of him tenderly? Only God knows.
Whatever you do, DON'T STARE!
Our house was only a block or so from the railroad tracks. Occasionally a hobo would knock on our front door asking for food. I always found them fascinating. My mouth watered with questions that I longed to ask them but Mother would have none of that! "Don't stare at him!" she'd say. It was like she thought maybe if we had eye contact with any of them, they'd put an evil spell on us!
That was my assumption anyway, and at 10 years old I thought I knew everything! I remember one of them came to the house one day and when he knocked on the door, I ran and hid behind the curtains. This made Mom furious! "Don't ever do that again!" she said sternly. "You just never know. It might be Jesus in disguise!" I was amazed and in awe! The thought had never crossed my mind! Why, I wondered? From then on when I saw one heading toward our house I'd make an extra effort to give him the best sandwich I could make! If we had leftover mashed potatoes he'd get a mustard, mashed potato and onion sandwich. Or maybe a mashed up brown beans with mustard and onion, or even peanut butter and honey stirred together! Oh, I could think up all kinds of exciting things to make. You know the funny part? They always ate it and said a big thank you. It made me feel proud of myself. Not only had I fed them but Jesus and I secretly knew He liked the peanut butter and honey sandwich best. Next time you see a homeless person, don't turn up your nose dear. It might be Jesus in disguise.
