“A stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet.”
— old saying
I walked home alone on a Monday night.
No one else was walking. Tv’s and computers flickered in the windows. An occasional car drove by. The moon shone down through the clouds. I walked on, passing an endless parade of houses. Homes of strangers.
As I walked, I thought about the guy on the on-ramp I saw earlier. He was older. His sign said he was a vet. He just stood there, alone, watching an endless parade of strangers drive by.
Once, many years ago, a stranger in that endless parade paid our tab at a restaurant. I never forgot it.
Tonight, I gave supper to that guy on the ramp. To him, I was the stranger.
We go through our lives meeting very few of the people who pass by; knowing even fewer. It’s kind when one of those strangers holds up a helping hand to you.
It’s kinder still when you hold up your hand to them.
I gave a McDonald’s gift card to a guy on an on-ramp.