A Christmas Story

Paul Handy has white hair and a long, flowing beard. He’s as tidy as homelessness permits. And, like many homeless people, he collects aluminum cans.

I met Mr. Handy in a Mcdonald’s in Lordsburg, N.M., one evening just before Christmas. I was driving back from visiting relatives in Houston, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself, because I wouldn’t be with my family at Christmas. But at least I have a family. I thought I might make a little gift to this elderly gentleman, in the Christmas spirit. I was in for a surprise.

Every day, we’re presented with an opportunity to go beyond what’s expected. We all inhabit our own little box, and thinking outside the box is notoriously difficult. But we should take the time to imagine what could be, and to ask why not.

You see people every day who could use a little help. They may ask, or they may not. They may not know how to ask. They may feel so hopeless they don’t think asking would do any good. But just in case you are your brother’s keeper, you might look around and see what needs to be done.

Our job is to put ourselves in others’ shoes and imagine what we could do if we were in theirs. We may have fewer distractions, fewer of the little crises that can overwhelm us at the moment. Isaac Newton said he had seen far because he stood on the shoulders of giants. We may have life experiences that give us that extra insight. We may have special skills, talents or resources that can make a difference.

What people think they need may not be what they really need. With insight, intelligence and compassion, we can make another life better — with little or no effort. It just takes caring. That’s where we turn an aluminum can into... but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I expected to be the gift-giver. Instead, Mr. Handy taught me a valuable lesson: you can go the extra mile; go beyond the usual gesture, and make a big difference instead of a tiny one.

I walked over to Mr. Handy, prepared to give him a few dollars. Then I noticed the pair of scissors in his hand. He had cut an aluminum can into the most amazing little bicycle. My daughter Christene had built an airplane out of a Dad’s Root Beer can for me years ago, and I had never since seen such a wonder. My daughter would get that little bicycle as a Christmas present. “How much for the bicycle?,” I asked. “Five dollars,” the old gentleman with the white hair and flowing white beard said with a twinkle in his eye.

And I happily handed him $5 for the aluminum can other homeless people sell for two cents.