his Father

Every day when I drive home from work, at the Fullerton exit, I see this man. He must be homeless, because he carries a sign with him as he walks up and down the street, along the row of cars. The sign says, “I’m hungry. Please help. God bless.”

This is not an uncommon sight in the city of Chicago. I come across plenty of panhandlers and beggars, probably most of which are homeless. However, this man strikes me. Every time the light turns green and the accountants and traders move on toward their high-rise apartments, he kneels down in the mud. He bows his head and pulls a necklace from under his torn black shirt. He holds the necklace close, like a child.

He prays.