The Man on the Road

This one isn't funny.

Homelessness isn't funny. Down-on-your-luck isn't funny. Teaching fear and loathing to children isn't funny either.

Off to our right stood a man.

He wore a ratty old coat, and a baseball cap that had seen better days. His boots were scuffed and muddy. His pants had holes through both knees. They didn't fit particularly well either.

Long, stringy hair stuck out from under the hat. It had been brown once upon a time. Now it was flecked with gray, tangled, unkempt.

I didn't know the last time he'd shaved. Or washed. Probably he didn't know either.

We weren't close enough to smell him. If we had been, he would have smelled like - what? A dumpster? A ditch? An overpass? A urine-soaked park bench?

His face was the weathered color of autumn cabbage and had crags deep enough to plant corn.

He held a cardboard sign in front of him. It read, "U.S. vet. Any help is appreciated. God bless."

I looked at him for a few moments, wondering if I should say anything to the two boys in the back seat. One of them beat me to it.

"Don't give him any money," said my son's friend. "He's just a stupid man who wants drugs."

We were on our way to a 3rd-grade soccer game, the boys and I. We were waiting at a traffic light just off the interstate in a suburb of Des Moines. The man stood at the bottom of the exit ramp.

"What?" I said.

The same boy answered. "My dad says he's just a stupid man who wants money so he can buy drugs."

None of the other drivers at the light were looking at the man. In fact, they were making an exaggerated effort not to - gripping the wheel with both hands, staring straight ahead, face rigid.

I wasn't sure what to say.

So I dipped my toe in the water carefully. I'm not sure it's fair to call him stupid, I explained. We don't know what his circumstances are. Maybe he lost his home. Maybe he lost his job. Maybe he lost his family.

Nope, my son's friend insisted. He wants drugs. He's dumb and he wants drugs and he's dangerous.

That's unfair, I tried again. We don't know anything about this man. He's probably hungry. He's probably thirsty. Look at him. If he had $5 he'd spend it on a sandwich, not a pinch of marijuana.

"My dad says someone like that is stupid," the boy said stubbornly.

I let it go. Who wants to argue with an 8-year old boy?

The light changed and the traffic moved ahead. Nobody rolled down a window and held out a dollar bill. Nobody gave him a candy bar. Nobody gave him an apple. Nobody gave him anything.

Not even a friendly wave.

Neither did I, now that I think about it.

I looked back as I drove away.

The man looked so sad.