He was only 11 years old when his father died. It was like a thunderbolt went through his chest. It was devastating for him. A painful experience. A decaying loss, that was painfully eating away at his young being.
A haunting nightmare that was revealing it’s frightening mask at every thought in his mind.
His family was torn apart although not physically. They were torn emotionally and mentally.
There was no lingering fragrance of love, peace and gratitude. Confusion, sadness and devastation reigned.
It was total destruction.
Poverty followed. It rose like the sun. Every day. Ever present. Filling his young mind with lack and shortage. Self doubt followed his every move, like a shadow.
His bucket of self confidence, self worth and self esteem were leaking and there was not much remaining.
Through these young eyes he watched as his friends were picked up from school by their father’s in their nice cars. He looked with envy at the car and the figure behind the wheel. Oh what he would do to have his Daddy back.
He loved his sports and lost himself in competing and having fun. That was his escape. The sport was were his mind was fixed on something he loved and where he could express himself.
But that haunting face of poverty would come back and prod him and chip away at his self worth. He couldn’t afford the equipment, the coaching or the events he so badly wanted to pursue.
Life seemed to throw him hurdles at every turn. He saw his God as an angry man, judging his every move and thought. He was scared of him and deep down, didn’t like this God. He pretended to like him…just so he wouldn’t get punished further.
He was too embarrassed to go out with the girls, because he didn’t have clothes to go out in. Holes in his shoes, old worn out clothes that were a few sizes too small or too big.
Hand me downs of other people’s unwanted items. Slowly each life experience made him feel more and more unworthy and not good enough. He was a fighter though.
He wanted to be a champion. He dreamed of being a successful businessman with a big fancy BMW.
He was in a struggle for life…in a struggle with that haunting nightmare reminding him of his loss. Reminding him he was poor. Reminding him he was weak. Reminding him he was different from everyone else.
The insecurities grew.
The love from his mother was still there…the best Mom anyone could ever want. She was young and in her own struggle.
Not only had she lost her true love, she was now involved in an ugly new marriage with an alcoholic. There was new pain in her life. A new fight.
For the boy there was a new war. Going to school now with a dysfunctional family and a drunken stepfather. Tears rolled down his face as the girl at the bus stop reminded him before school of the drunken noise she heard each night.
He just wanted normal. He wanted a Mom and Dad. He wanted a family with a house and car. He wanted his old life back.
Fast Forward 20 Years…
Holding a Can and Begging
The stench of his body echoes off the wall where he hides from the wind. He hasn’t bathed in months. His beard is scraggly and his mouth aches from the poor dental hygiene. His skin is cracked and dry from the harsh beating sun.
He craves his next swig of beer or vodka. His mind is filled with thousands of crazy thoughts. He gazes with a mix of deep anger and mocking laughter at the kids surfing in front of him.
“Look at those spoilt little rich kids…pathetic. What’s the point in riding those waves? What did daddy do to pay for your boards? You think you’re so cool don’t you?
Well just wait…life will get you. It will get you hard. Maybe not. What did my family do to be so cursed?
Arrgghhh. I long to be like those kids. How did I get here? I long to be picked up by my Dad in his nice clean car. Driven home to those fancy houses in the burbs. Get into my brand new surf clothes and beautiful bedroom.
Have delicious meals cooked for me while I enjoy a nice soda. Maybe go out with my friends to the movies and get a milkshake?
Why? Why? WHHHHHHYYYYYY?
Smiling In His Suit He Gives Him 10 Dollars
Just then a clean, well manicured and tanned hand reaches out to him. “How you doing brother?” Here’s a little something for you to get some lunch ok?”
The vagrant is stunned and his thoughts break into silence as he looks into the strangers blue eyes. He feels the love, he feels the inner peace, he feels his energy.
For the first time in years…he thinks that could be me. Deep within his broken spirit, within his alcohol dependent mind there is a flicker of light.
“I want that” he mumbles in his mind.
Those 3 words reverberate through his entire being. He feels a surge of energy like he hasn’t ever experienced. He feels alive. He stands up with his head spinning, as the effects of the nights alcohol haven’t fully worn off.
In fact the alcohol effects never wear off.
He lunges forward into motion. When last did he stand up and walk with such purpose? He can see the man in the suit in front of him. Walking away confidently.
He tries to walk, but his legs are weak. This surge of energy is crippling him. He feels like he will pass out. He shouts out but there are no words…
His throat is dry and parched. His voice empty!
The man in the suit is surrounded by the sunlight. An aura of blinding light. He falls to his knees and the concrete paving rips the skin from his knees.
The pain angers him. It frustrates him. Just like when he was that poor boy at school being bullied for being himself.
The pain helps him find his voice.
“Hey!” he bellows.
The stranger turns. Still smiling and with a look of contentment on his face.
“Hey! Who are you?” asks the hobo.
“I’m Kenneth!” replies the stranger.
The hobo stops dead in his tracks. He is overwhelmed with emotion. But this is a different emotion. The fear, the anger, the hatred, the guilt, the shame, the regret, the self doubt, the constant anxiety, the crushing depression, the pain is melting away.
“But that’s my name”, he think to himself
“I know it is”, the stranger replied.
“What do you mean?” asks the hobo?
He is filled with positivity in this moment. Life has suddenly blessed him for the first time in decades. A stranger has smiled at him, given hime $10 dollars and now they have the same name.
He feels like he’s in the presence of family again. Just like when he was a boy. Before he walked down the path of self destruction and hatred.
He moves closer and gets a closer look at those blue eyes of the stranger. They seem familiar. Where has he seen those eyes before?
The stranger replies…”I know your name brother. I’ve seen you here so many times, but you have never noticed me. I walk past here every day.”
“Really? Where do you go? Do you work here?” Asks the hobo with a puzzled look.
“No, I work on the other side of town. But I get my morning coffee and I come here to where I used to hang out as a child. I come back here to this beach where I spent all my spare time. This beach and these waves were my love.
This was my escape from my life as a child.
The ocean gave me love and the waves taught me about life. The waves were my friends and gave me so much.
I come here to remind myself of the beauty of life and to be grateful.”
“That’s cool. I used to hang out here too as a child. Just like you.” replied the hobo.
“I know.” the stranger remarked. “I know you from back then”.
“What?”
“Yep it’s true brother. I remember you…clearly”
“Man this is weird. I bet I didn’t look like this hey?” the suddenly embarrassed hobo replied
“No and I didn’t look like this either. It was just me, my boardshorts, my surfboard and the waves. Nothing else” explained the stranger.
“I know — it was so cool hey. I loved those times. Now I can’t even surf bra. I’m always too drunk. Haha. I check all these youngsters out and they all got these new boards and stuff. They’re lucky bra!” said the hobo with a large scent of envy.
“Yes they are and so were we Kenneth.” replied the stranger.
“How do you remember my name bra? How do you even recognize me with all this junk on my face?” asked the curious hobo.
The stranger stepped closer. He looked at the drunken hobo deeply. His blue eyes connected with his.
The hobo was silenced as he locked eyes with the stranger. Suddenly the energy had shifted.
The soft, loving energy had faded quickly. This was a man-on-man energy. This was a call to arms. This was a battle cry.
His chest pounded. He was ready for this. This was life about to hand him another beating. Another bad hand from this filthy life…just when I thought this stranger could be trusted.
“You want to know how I know your name?” asked the stranger with dead piercing eyes.
“Ja. I do. Because right now you’re freaking me out bra.” said a frank hobo.
“Look into my eyes Kenneth. Look deep into my eyes my friend.
What do you see?”
“Nothing!” replied the confused hobo.
“Yes you do…Look deeper. Go within my eyes. Don’t look with your eyes. Look with your soul. Look from deep within you.” stated the stranger.
He did…the strangers eyes seemed to change and move like the ocean. He felt weak and his knees trembled in shock. In fear.
He took a step back and stumbled backwards. His mouth was wide open.
The stranger continued to fix his eyes on his and asked. “What do you see?”
The hobo’s words were gone for second. Nothing could come out. It can’t be. He looked at his can of beer and tossed it away. He was hallucinating. This was a bad dream.
“It’s ok Kenneth. What do you see.” the hobo stated in a soothing voice.
“I don’t know.” quivered the hobo.
The stranger stepped closer towards him. His legs felt like concrete pillars cemented to the ground. He couldn’t move.
The stranger opened his arms and wrapped them around his body. A hug. A warm loving hug!
Tears rolled down the hobo’s face. They burnt as they soaked his sun scorched skin.
The stranger pulled back a little and turned his head to whisper in his ear.
“I know your name, because…
I am you!” he whispered.
“What?” exclaimed the hobo.
“I am you. We’re the same person.” the stranger assured him.
The tears dried instantly like the sun parching the desert floor.
“How can that be?” asked the hobo.
“We’re the exact same person, who experienced the exact same events. Our stories of life are exactly the same…we just chose to interpret what they meant differently.
It is not what happens to us Kenneth, it is how we chose to respond to those events. We all have choices. We don’t get to choose the cards we are dealt in life. We don;t get to choose our parents and many other things.
But we do get to choose how we respond.
You still have the choice Kenneth. What do you want? What do you really want deep down there,” as he pointed to his his chest.
“Forget about what is happening up here” and he tapped his head. “Forget the noise and the BS narrative of that voice in your head and go with your heart.
Go within and choose how you want to feel. Choose life not this destruction. Not this filth. Not this carnage and devastation.
It is from these places. It is from these situations. It is from these events. It is from these ashes and sewers that we can rise.
This is where we can decide enough and change our trajectory in life. Change our story.
It’s never too late.
What do you want? Make that choice now and follow your inner voice. I am you and you are me.
Choose who you want to be.
And remember tomorrow I will walk by you again and the next day. You can choose to see me and make that positive choice or you can choose to ignore me and live within those halls of horrors.
The day you do not see me, is the day you know your time will be up. That will be the day of regret and sorrow as you perish without anyone knowing your name…alone.
You get to make the choice Kenneth. Start now. You decide which direction you want to head in and take the first step.
Goodbye!