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Christmas with Buddy

Contributed by: Erin Di Paolo on 12/11/2007

The best Christmas I ever had was in 1988. It was unlike any other I had ever experienced. In the past, Christmas had been about what I could get; this one was about what I could give.

God had been working in my life in 1988; I learned all was meaningless without Him. Before 1988, I did not understand what Christmas was about. I thought it was about warm, fuzzy thoughts, Christmas cards, eating, and gifts, gifts, gifts. Now it had become real, personal, and significant to me; it was about growing closer to God.

Not only was I excited about my newfound understanding of Christmas, I was just as thrilled about the new man in my life. John and I began dating right before Christmas and I was on Cloud 9. Having so many positive things happening in my life propelled me to spread joy and love.

My friend, Tracy, and I decided to spend the holiday together, doing the things friends enjoy, but we also wanted to experience something important. We decided we would volunteer at the Salvation Army's annual Christmas dinner for the homeless.

Before we arrived, we had no idea what to expect or what to do! It was the first time Tracy or I had ever done anything like it. We had walked totally out of our comfort zone and into something foreign. All the other people there seemed like pros. We were novices and I'm sure it showed. We felt naked, exposed, among a room of strangers.

Eventually we got into the groove, helping here and there. Even so, I felt awkward dishing up food and cleaning up after people. What I really wanted to do was sit and talk. I do not do mingling or small talk well. I told Tracy I merely wanted to have a seat and converse with people, to connect on some level. She agreed that would be the best use of our ability, so she went her way and I went mine.

Immediately I saw Buddy. I knew he was the one. I timidly approached him, sitting down across the table from him.

Buddy was scruffy and haggard-looking, with thinning gray hair. He appeared much older than his 58 years. He had a worn-down-by-life look about him, yet there remained a sparkle in his eyes. As I spoke with him, he looked me directly in the eye, unashamed and grateful to be in a warm, safe place with a full stomach. Buddy's attitude humbled me. How could I ever be dissatisfied with my life again? I felt as if I would be thankful forever, which, of course, did not last. But at that moment it seemed the feelings would last for eternity.

Right away I realized that Buddy was not content with his life. He told me he didn't want to remain on the street, but that he didn't know how to get a job. He had been homeless for five years, he said, but life had not always been so difficult. He spoke of his three grown children - all daughters; the oldest was 32. He even had 12 grandchildren. As he spoke, I imagined him in happier times, driving his girls to school, carrying them on his once-strong shoulders, hearing laughter as he bounced them on his knee. It was easy to picture him as a normal person with a normal life.

I asked him an obvious question: why was his family not helping him? He said they had in the past, but he would not continue to ask them; they needed to offer help freely. I asked myself, how could a daughter possibly desert her father? What had gone so wrong along the way? If Buddy were my father, could I turn my back on him?

Buddy continued to talk, but Christmas music blared and his voice wavered; it was difficult to hear every word. He said something about a girlfriend or a common-law wife being part of the problem. Perhaps she took everything he had? It was obvious something devastating had happened along the way because Buddy had not always been on the street. At one point, he led an ordinary existence, had a real job, a home.

I waited patiently for a moment to talk about God. I was hesitant, but knew I had to. I asked Buddy if he ever prayed. Yes, he said. He believed there had to be something higher, more powerful than himself, in the world. I urged Buddy to continue to pray, telling him God would help him if he had faith. He said he realized his situation could change. In his voice, I heard a glimmer of hope. I thought to myself, if he can have hope, then surely I can. What struggles did I face in my life that were close to being as hard as what he awakened to day after endless day? I determined in my heart that I would live differently from that point forward. Or at least make a valiant attempt to.

To begin with, I was fairly sure I would marry John in the near future. After I met Buddy, I decided to have a different type of wedding than I'd dreamed of. Before Buddy, I wanted a huge, lavish wedding, with a band, a huge buffet, an open bar, an expensive dress. Afterwards, I decided I would keep it simple; I didn't need such extravagance when others had nothing. My attitude toward materialism began to change; I started to become indifferent to "things." Buddy was a key reason why.

Buddy touched my heart that day, unlike anyone else ever had, or has. I knew that, but for the grace of God, Buddy could be my father. Or that I could be in his place. Maybe meeting Buddy was so profound because he was the first REAL homeless person I had ever met. I could no longer look at the homeless in an anonymous way; Buddy gave them a face, a story, a voice, a life. I will never forget his countenance, the wear and tear I witnessed. But not just that. The kindness, the joy, even in the midst of horrific circumstances. It was the human spirit at its best, clinging to hope, against all odds.

I never saw Buddy again. I think of him every Christmas. I wonder where he is, what he is doing. Is he even alive?

I will always carry the memory of him in my heart. When my life seems too much to bear, I remember the reward he gave me that day. I arrogantly thought I was going to help him and change his life; instead he changed mine. I received the greater reward. Buddy gave me the best Christmas gift ever. He allowed me a glimpse into his soul, if only for a moment. He showed me it is possible to survive with nothing. You can smile when you have nothing, you can converse, and you can even laugh. For all those things, I am grateful.

It is for those reasons - and so many more - that I will never forget Christmas with Buddy.



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CONTRIBUTOR INFORMATION

Erin Di Paolo

Denver , CO

Erin Di Paolo has posted 61 stories and 6 comments since joining on 3/18/2006. Erin Di Paolo 's average story rating is 4.81.
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