“Tell them, sir. Tell them we exist. Promise to remind them of the forgotten.”
I can remember clearly the moment I heard those words.
I was walking back to my hotel in a strange city, and about to cross the street, when someone cried, “Watch out!” A car was backing out of a driveway right where I was standing. I didn’t pay attention.
I looked around wondering who had shouted.
Then I saw him. He raised his hand, and I waved back, but then decided I should actually say thanks in person.
He was leaning against a building down the street. The air was warm, and the sun visible at the end of the street.
I’d experienced it before, the smell and the appearance of a homeless person, but I’d never stopped before.
“Thank you!” I said.
“Do you have any change?” he asked.
“Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”
He accepted, and we went into a nearby restaurant for some food.
He talked, and I listened. He asked me what I did, and I explained that I was a writer and speaker.
“Tell them, sir. Tell them we exist. Promise to remind them of the forgottenSuddenly I realized how sad it was to think that someone would feel being “forgotten”.
I remembered him when I sent a check to a rescue mission last week.
I know we should be happy with “enough” for millions, but “enough” never seems to come. So today I’m asking you to join me. Imagine for a moment that you’re standing there with me, talking to that man.