Thoughts of a Radioactive Mutant Orc in Space
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Vintage Reprint: Socks at McDonald's
This is a blog entry I wrote at Yahoo! 360° on September 8, 2005. Now that Yahoo! 360° has shut down the blog portion of their service I wanted to move this entry over. I was actually talking with some work colleagues about this the other day; this reminded me to resurrect/republish this story before it was totally lost to antiquity. This entry is neither radioactive, mutated, orcish or spaced-out. But it is "in" as in, "in real life." I edited it for spelling.
A couple of days ago I took Timothy and Noah to McDonald's for an ice cream and some play time while Stacy and Simon were at an appointment near my office. While we were in the outdoor play-place an older man with unkempt hair (I am one to write with my afro these days!) shuffled by and sat in the stool/table next to us. He immediately engaged me in conversation as I was trying to hold together an ice cream cone that was hopelessly melting over the cone rim and napkin onto my fingers.
Over the course of an hour, he told me about how he was homeless, how he wandered the streets and traveled the trains (MARTA) of Atlanta, visiting Grady Hospital on occasion to have the sores on his feet treated, visiting Waffle House for coffee, and of course visiting McDonald's for an occasional soft drink. At one point he looked me straight in the eye and told me he'd give me five dollars for my socks, if he had five dollars to his name. He held up his feet, sockless but with shoes on and with napkins stuffed in them for a little buffer between his skin and the leather of his well-worn black Nike shoes. I didn't know what to say, as far as yes or no, but I did feel compelled to say that if I did give him my socks, I wouldn't take any money for them. How could I?
We chatted some more about how he came to be homeless, how he thought my kids were handsome, where he grew up (in southwest Georgia) and how he had escaped a mental hospital at one point. He looked like a very scraggly Anthony Hopkins, by the way. His eyes were piercing like the actor's eyes. He showed me how much money he had, probably two dollars in specie. He talked about how $1000 had been stolen from him and that had started his downward spiral into homelessness. I tried to discourage him from smoking his cigars in the play-place and he got a little crazy on me, saying no cops would evict him for doing it. I said it should be a matter of doing what was right, not doing what was wrong when you know you're not going to get caught. He said I must be a Christian, and asked if I believed in Jesus? "Yes," I said. "Believe in God?" my unlikely inquisitor pressed. "Comes with the territory," I replied. "One in the same," he muttered. He showed me his hand, where a Star of David was tattooed. He said he was a Christian Jew.
At one point he wandered over to the shoe station, adjusting his too-loose trousers as he shuffled there. Somewhat inspired with the semi-privacy of his back turned and no one else at the play-place but my two boys giggling insanely, chasing the brave birds who were used to being close to humans dropping fry bits, I doffed my socks. When he came back, I told him, "I'm going to give you my socks." I helped him take off his shoes. I started to untie his laces but he said not to, that they were tied just as he needed them. He put on the socks--a process that took about 5 minutes as it must have been too painful to go any faster, with the sores and scratches visible on his feet from walking on them so much, I presumed. He stood up, said "Ah, that's nice," and sort of walked in place for a minute, enjoying the feel of socks on his feet.
I ended up buying him an ice cream cone, the fourth one (the first one for Noah--Timothy opted for a happy meal--then one for Stacy to go and the homeless man, then one for Timothy in the drive through, no less, because he decided he wanted ice cream after all, ha!) I'd bought that day. But what I spent on ice cream and used socks was far less than what I gained. I'm still trying to figure out exactly what it is I gained. Perspective? Recognizing Jesus in the lowest of the low? I could have shunned him, judged him, and I admit I did a bit of those, although unsuccessfully. But what I hope I did, was give him kindness that he can save up for a rainy day. God, bless him and heal him and bring him to a place where he can rise out of his situation.
Or, maybe God will keep him there so people like me could meet him and have our mercy tested?
Now follow the original comments I received for this post:
David, 10/03/2005 09:35:38: I'm reminded of the vignette in our great-grandfather's adolescence, when he earned a living hauling bags for passengers at a train station, and a Jewish passenger tattooed the Star of David on the back of his hand instead of giving him a tip. Young David didn't know that the tattoo was insulting for an Arab!
Anonymous, 12/13/2005 17:52:25: Something to consider when you get the gift of socks this Christmas, I'm sure we all will look at socks differently. -
Currently
Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles - The Complete Second Season
By Lena Headey, Thomas Dekker, Summer Glau, Brian Austin Green, Garret Dillahunt
see relatedUntimely severe weather alert
Radioactive!
Last night my lovely sci-fi geek wife and I pulled a late night marathon and watched the third and second to last episodes of the 2nd season of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. Oh man, this show keeps getting better and better. I have to believe, however, they knew they were getting the axe, based on some of the things happening. We tried to watch the last episode, too, but it was 1/2 an hour of live weather updates during a tornado-spawning storm and the last 1/2 hour of the show (presumably). Rats! They don't call Friday nights the death time slot for nothing, I suppose. How ironic, that the last episode of the season, probably the series, was on the air, and 1/2 the viewers, however many were actually left still watching the show (ratings were apparently awful), couldn't actually see it. At least in the Atlanta metro market. So we will have to watch it on the Internet.
I can't believe they canceled this show, as good as it is! I never was sold on Lena as Sara Connor, although of late she has even impressed me. John Connor never quite shined through Dekker until recently, although it was less of a hurdle that for Sarah. First I had to get over him as the same actor who played CheerBear's friend in Heroes season 1. I have totally loved Derek Reese and Cameron, despite her necessarily one dimensional performance. I guess what I'm saying is, no I don't think the show blew everyone away, but it was a great show, it has had clever and gripping writing, but suffered a bit from some of the acting. I hope the finale won't disappoint.
I wonder if I write about Terminator every day, if the Internet buzz around this show will significantly increase enough to where the network executives will realize they should keep T:TSCC alive despite its poor ratings and bring it back? (Doubtful!) Or maybe SciFi will pick it up like they did with Sliders. I guess I'll find out the feasibility of that once we watch the last episode. -
Currently
The Shack
By William P. Young
see relatedRyan Seacrest, this is all your fault
There it sat, in our house's attic, for who knows how many years. The keyboard. Elizabeth saw it one day as she had followed me into the crawlspace on the other side of our office, which years ago had been carved out of 1/2 our attic space above the garage. I was rummaging through some boxes of comic books (please don't remind of me of the peril my collection is in sitting in non-air-conditioned space!) and she poked her head through the door, in awe at the coolness of the space she never got to go. "What's in that box?" "Oh that's a keyboard Grammy Polly gave us a while back." "Can I have it?" she asked, eyes completely widened with excitement.
It wasn't a good time to pull it out, so there it sat for many months more. Out of the blue, today she asked if she could have it. She'd periodically asked, and it just never was the right time. But today, it was the right day, time, or maybe it was just I didn't have the heart to continue the small heartbreak whenever she'd ask and I'd say, "Not right now, honey."
We couldn't find an adapter that would work on it. It needed an AC adapter that spit out DC 9V. I had a few that transformed to 12V, one that went to 7.5. So we raided our flashlight collection for the 6 D cells it would need, and the next hour saw the four kids taking turns having a blast with the melodies, drum beats, and other sounds more on the cacophony end of the musical scale. I don't know why I didn't let them have it earlier--maybe I was scared that the younger kids would break it and was waiting for them to get older. Maybe I was afraid it would just get tripped over with all the other stuff in my daughter's routinely anti-organized room of possessions. Maybe it was just nonsensical laziness. Whatever the reason, I was happy to see them having so much fun tonight and was thankful Mom had given us the keyboard.
When it was time for Noah to retire, after reading Grandma's Gumbo (complete with dedication to Timothy on the occasion of his 5th birthday), I was reaching on top of his bookshelf for his light when I saw it. A black cord. It was an adapter, most likely stashed there by me years ago. Dust covered, it sat there like Wheezy from Toy Story 2, just waiting to be put into use. It probably used to be hooked up to an old Noah's Ark-themed decorative item that we'd long since unplugged. It was the adapter I'd been thinking of--the one with the selector from 1.5V all the way to 9V. The one I had aquired when I was but a lad, to use for a much more primitive keyboard my parents bought me--the one that was the store counter model at the local drugstore. The one I still have in working condition. Whose adapter had powered many things over the last 20 years. But enough of the nostalgia: ecstatic at the discovery, excited at the prospect of not having to feed a too big supply of expensive D cells to the newly unburied keyboard, I stuffed it into my pocket, turned out the light, said bedtime prayers with Noah, and headed downstairs to try it out.
The sonofagun worked, it actually worked. Alright!!!
The feeling lasted about 15 seconds.
Simon and Timothy were still playing with the keyboard downstairs when I came down to test the adapter. I tested it out with Simon on the couch and the adapter cord strung across the room from couch to wall socket. The three of us rejoiced in the moment. Then I realized it was 8:00. Stacy had asked me to record American Idol that started at 8. I was missing it! The opening musical credits! Well, still having plenty of time to pull out a tape (tape: ancient hi-fidelity video recording medium used in that pinnacle of 1970s video recording technology: a VCR, the operation of which differentiated Middle Aged Man from Old Man) before tonight's top ten sang their songs, I raced across the room around the couch to grab a spare tape, tripping over the cord I had just plugged in not 15 seconds previously, almost busting my can, and breaking the electronic keyboard's adapter socket in the process. That's right, I broke it.
There the keyboard sat in its box, for gee, I don't know, 5+ years in my attic. There the adapter sat on top of Noah's bookshelf for gee, I don't know, 3 or so years. Both collecting dust. Only to be dusted off for a glorious 15+ seconds of electrical current glee before succumbing to my hair-brained self.
I blame this on you, Ryan Seacrest!!!
I guess it's back to D cells we go.
