I stopped at the red light, and she quickly came to me, stooping against
the open window, her thin little arm reaching into my car, a small hand
in a shell-like fashion, waiting for me to drop in a coin. I looked
startled, I suppose. She was just a child, a child with a sweet long
face, a scrawny child with dirty, ragged clothes, a hungry child.

Can you spare some change? I need to buy food for my brother, she said,
pointing to the sidewalk, where a woman sat at the curb with a baby on
her lap. She looked desolate because that's what hunger does to you, it
takes away your strength, but, even worse, it steals your hope. Sir,
just a few coins, we really need milk for the baby.

I looked into her eyes, her young yet weary eyes, her lonely and
meaningful eyes, and wondered what she was thinking. I thought about how
many times she followed the same ritual, how many cars she approached
and how often she got turned down, and whatever kind of insults she had
to endure to make it through the day. I wondered what would become of
her, and of the baby swaddled in filthy pieces of fabric just across the
street. I felt responsible for them, and I don't know exactly why.

I gave her four quarters, which amount to one dollar. She thanked me and
smiled, looking accomplished, almost happy. She waved to the woman at
the sidewalk, the bills fluttering in the wind as her arms flailed in
satisfaction. She had hair flowing in her mouth now, but she didn't seem
to care. I thought, for a moment, that everything would be all right for
her, for the hungry baby who needed milk, and for the battered mother.

The light turned green, and somebody behind me promptly honked. The
little girl was now giving the money to the woman at the curb, who
quickly hid it inside her bra. For an instant, they looked like a
regular family having some time out, catching some sun. For a moment, I
pictured the baby on a fancy stroller, and the mother in a black dress,
walking down N I street in Elwood with a tiny black purse dangling from
her right elbow, and the little girl sporting a pink dotted dress, her
hair in one long braid sliding down her back.

The driver behind me honked again, and I stepped on the gas, following
the three of them through my rear view mirror. What is it that makes
this world so full of contrasts, Kelly? What is it that separates the
reality of that family sitting at the curb from the world fantasy I
imagined for them? It would be easy to say it's just money. It would be
even easier to call it luck, or the lack thereof, and it would be stupid
to downplay it by saying that, This is just the way things are supposed
to be.

I wonder if that family believes in God. I wonder if they have time to
believe, and, more to the point, if faith would have some, if any,
impact to minimize the hunger, the humiliation of having to peddle for
change from drivers-by.

Everyone tells me they prefer not to think about it because it is too
painful to imagine that family, and those shelter-less kids growing up
on the streets, and there's nothing that we can do to change the
situation. And that's what many of us do over here. We pretend, we
relinquish the responsibility of the problem, and delegate the arduous
job of finding a solution to someone else, like the government, or the
church, or, as they call it here, the authorities in charge.

And we move on, filling our days with our own problems, blaming our
misfortunes on the guy sitting in the next cubicle, and cursing the
crashed computer, or the server that was down, or the client, who is too
dumb to understand the web, or the advertisers, who curb our creativity.

In the end, I guess there's nothing wrong with that picture, except for
the fact that by thinking too much about ourselves we fail to remember
who we really are.

Be well.
P. Christopher
until...

Another excerpt from my book, just thought I would share it...

You really DID write this. WOW

that is really really good what is the title?

Amazing .. you have some real talent. ever think about publishing it

The book is titled, "the letters" and has been reviewed by McGraw-Hill
and will be published the first of next year. I will explain and include
more later, but I hope that you all enjoy.
P. Christopher
Until...