Holding Out Hope
A young Black man appeared across the counter from me at the street ministry. He looked totally exhausted, almost asleep on his feet. The temperature had dipped below 30 degrees the previous night and I wondered how he managed outdoors.
He didn't recognize me but I recognized him. Three weeks ago, he had ordered a Cadillac, coffee and hot chocolate concoction, and said to me, “Every day without formality is positive.”
It was a dynamite line of pure philosophy, I told him that at the time, and I've wrestled with it ever since.
As I handed him a coffee, (no Cadillac this time) I quoted the line and told him how much it had inspired me to think. I said it was wonderful to encounter an original line of philosophy when and where you least expected it.
It was as if someone switched on a city's power grid inside the man. His face lit up. His eyes were on fire. He smiled a smile of amazement. He sipped his coffee.
He told me he didn't remember telling me the line. I said I surely wouldn't forget it. He thanked me and then moved away toward a table.
A couple minutes later he was back for more coffee and said how much he appreciated me telling him about the line.
“I should be writing these down,” he said.
“Yes, you should,” I said.
“I want to write.”
“Do you keep a journal?”
“No, but I should.”
“Yes. You can get those classic black and white marbled composition books for 99 cents. They have stitched bindings. They're hearty.”
“I can get one at Dollar Tree today.”
“I'll read anything you write, but don't tear it out of the journal.”
“It will fall apart, right?”
“Yes.”
“When are you here next?”
“Next Tuesday morning, my regular shift.”
“See you then.”
He thanked me again and returned to a table.
I'm not a teacher anymore but I'll never stop teaching.
Would he follow through? I had no idea, but held out hope. If he showed up next week and didn't recognize me I'd quote the line, mention the journal, and crank up the hope again.