These days I always give up my spare change* to the first bum who asks for it, but it wasn't always so.
No no---for more years than I'm proud of I'd never cough up so much as a nickel, no matter how clean-cut the bum. I was a perfectly smug Scrooge busy asking, "Are there no homeless shelters?"
"Plenty of homeless shelters," said my ex-boyfriend,** laying down his pen again.
"The detox centers and the charitable organizations are in full vigor, then?"
"Both very busy, sweetie."
"Well, bums had better go there and stop bugging me. It's enough for me to write a check now and then and not interfere with my business."
But my ex-boyfriend continued to fork over whatever was in his pocket, honoring Christmas and keeping it in his heart all the year. It took me many years and multiple readings of The Christmas Carol before I finally got around to giving up my pocket change and a kind word.
Plus, the bums bless you. No really, I've been at this for a while and there is no denying it---I've gotten a boatload of terrific God bless you, m'ams*** even if the only thing I'm forking over is a couple of measly dimes.**** And blessings are hard to come by in this cold and indifferent world. But guys on the street, man. They give 'em away like they're some kind of pocket change.
Scrooge became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city ever knew. Me, I make no such claim. I'm just another shoved-slightly-toward-the-kind-side writer who forks over to everybody in every good old city, town or borough in the good old world the hope for a blessed, most blessed new year.
And a stick of gum.
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*Seventy-two cents and a stick of gum.
**He of the plastic bucket fame!
***Along with a couple of sirs from some reeeeeeally drunken fellows. One said atta boy, and tried to scritch behind my ears. That must have been some drunken hallucination, boy.
****And a stick of gum.
