February 2014: Pestered
When everything starts bugging him, a better attitude can always shoo it away
This morning, when I returned home from my 6 a.m. meeting, my wife put her hand over the telephone receiver and whispered, “It’s Paul. He needs money.” Paul is a homeless man who came into our lives about five years ago, innocently asking to use the office copy machine. He has since then set up camp in the meadows of my mind, chopped my nerves for firewood, fished the placid waters of my generosity for new fiscal opportunities, and tethered his dog on a short leash to my guilty conscience. Over the past five years, first freely then grudgingly, I’ve given him money and rides to the...
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