Encounter with a homeless man in the park

Raggedy Man

Joggers attired brightly colored skin tight spandex and loose fitting grey cotton sweats pass the wooden bench at regular intervals. Some breeze by largely unaffected by the gravitational effects of the Earth, while others sucked air like there was a shortage. A large lake, with rental rowboats available only to the affluent zigzagging across the otherwise placid surface, was in front of the bench beyond the concrete. Occasionally bicyclists whisk by weaving through the pedestrians like mosquitoes. This was my favorite park and my favorite place in the park. I remember picnicking here as a child with my father and mother.

As I sat on the bench a slight breeze skipped through the leaves of the eclectic variety of deciduous trees planted that seemed to be planted ad hoc throughout the park by an unsupervised group of druggy's the1960s. The effect in the fall is as mind blowing as you can image, reds, yellows, greens and browns of every hue.

Old wooden picnic tables, scarred by decades of graffiti, pay homage to loves long since gone sour, were scattered under the various trees. The occupants rotated through hour by hour, day by day, week by week and year by year to share stories, shed tears, giggles and guffaws. Lover's undying declarations of devotion scar the trees.

The homeless man's slow gate accented his emaciated bent frame as he approached, beaten down by circumstance and time. He was a raggedy man with unruly tangled salt and pepper hair and a putrid essence the result of a prolonged lack of hygienic opportunities. "I'll be honest with you," he said to me, "could you spare some change so I can get a beer?"

Instinctively, repulsed, afraid, on guard, and dumb struck by his condition and audacity I got up without saying a word. I turned my back and walked away. I did not look back. At home I reflected upon my actions, or lack thereof. I told myself I had no responsibility to help this old man, it was not my problem, it was not my fault. As I shopped in the supermarket later that day I lamented this price of a gallon of milk. That night I slept uneasily.

The morning news carried the usual news about the recession, the poor economy, and the sagging housing market, the price of greed. The price of gas was holding, but expected to go up. Cynically, I thought "sure after the election in November." But the story that caught my eye was this:

"Walter Flynn, 62, was found dead in Prospect Park this morning. Though the incident is still under investigation, police do not suspect foul play. According to authorities, Flynn, a long time area resident was a known to be indigent. A Vietnam War Veteran, and Purple Heart recipient, Flynn had a history of mental illness. He is survived by his ex-wife Renee Hilton and a son, Michael of Salt Lake City, Utah."

There was a picture and I immediately recognized the raggedy man from the day before. "Hard times," I thought, "Not my fault," I thought, "There, but for the Grace of God, go we all," I thought.

Module 5: Cause and Effect

How I Got My Cat

I should have known. The apartment was on the second floor with a view of the parking lot. The furniture was typical college, second hand, great technology. Her roommate was slightly overweight, slightly jealous. I had met her the first week of the fall semester. It was a science class and we became lab partners. I still do not know if she chose me, or if I chose her. Maybe we just chose each other. Maybe it was caused by pheromones; after all it was a biology course.

During the "getting to know you" phase of the courtship she told me about her previous relationship with Kevin. They had hooked-up in high school and had been together until the prior summer. She described him in a fashion that inspired the saying "hell hath no fury…" She had explained that she had broken it off. He now attended school in another state. She claimed her feelings for him were over. I believed her.

Our relationship progressed from study sessions to dating rapidly and she invited me to meet her parents. Dinner was awkward at best. It was evident that her father still had feelings for Kevin. Her father practiced law. "Tell me about yourself," he cross-examined.

I did.

His gaze never left my eyes. When I had finished he shook his head sadly, slowly glanced over at his red faced wife, then stared down his daughter. "Sorry," she said in the car on the way back to her apartment. She told me that her father and Kevin would play golf. She said Kevin and her father had a lot in common. She also implied Kevin was abusive, though she was never explicit.

Her cat had a litter in October. She quickly was able to place all but one. One night in November just before Thanksgiving, her lips pouted, and with big sad puppy dog eyes she asked if I would like the last. I should have known. She promised it would not be much trouble, (cats are notoriously independent) and I named the cat Spot. I had always wanted a dog.

Classes ended, winter break came, and she suddenly got busy. I did not think too much about this as I was busy too. I called her a couple of days before Christmas and we had dinner. When I asked about Christmas Eve or day she was evasive. We made no plans. I stopped by to see her the day after Christmas. She was obviously surprised to see me when she answered the door. "We need to talk," she said.

Kevin had come home for Christmas, had stopped by to see the family, and she wanted to "date" him again. "I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment," she said.

"I guess I'm not," I said. I turned and walked out the door. That was the last time I saw her, though I think about her a lot. I still have the cat.

Module 6: Compare and Contrast

A Spoiled Child

What is a spoiled child? There are a number of jokes on the subject; Porsche is not only a car but an acronym that stands for Proof of Rich Spoiled Children Have Everything while USC, a private school in Southern California has been called the University of Spoiled Children. To answer this question we must first define what we mean by spoiled and then examine what it means to be a child.

To be fair spoiled people come in all shapes, sizes and ages. Everybody has seen them and opinions abound as to their characteristics and what causes their behavior. The trophy wife, pampered by the doting husband, the "mama's boy" with the helicopter mother hovering overhead well into adulthood, or the whining child throwing a tantrum in the store because he cannot have the toy he desires until the exasperated parent finally relents and buys it. Many times a spoiled person (the spoilee) has the "I want, I want, I want" syndrome and the person doing the spoiling (the spoiler) will have no peace until "they give, they give, they give." The spoilee is often seen as manipulative, self-centered, and lacking empathy by those outside the situation. But, is it a bad thing to be spoiled? One could argue that being spoiled has many benefits and those that can be are and those that cannot be are only jealous of those who are.

Now let us consider the spoiler, the enabler, the person that dedicates their time and effort to spoil and pamper another, often at the expense of their own well being. Their motivation may simply be a need for approval, to protect a loved one from harm, or to keep the peace. Often these people are seen as weak, insecure and lacking in self-respect.

Can one be spoiled without an accomplice? We have all heard someone say "go ahead, spoil yourself." Eat the second slice of cake, buy the dress you do not need, take the day to play golf, you deserve it. However is it really being spoiled if you do it for yourself, or are you just reaping the fruits of your labor? To be truly spoiled you need someone to do it for you.

Now let us examine the term child. Childhood is traditionally a stage of development: infancy, childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. Three out of four of these are states of immaturity. Is it possible to be stuck in one of these stages indefinitely? For some immaturity is an ideal, not a defect.

Peter Pan syndrome is characterized by people who don't want to "grow-up." Writer Dave Barry said, "What I look forward to is continued immaturity followed by death." It is evident that people of all ages can act like children; after all, the responsibilities of childhood are miniscule when compared to the responsibilities of adulthood.

So, what is a spoiled child? An argument can be made that a spoiled child is anyone who feels entitled to benefits at the expense of another. Age is irrelevant. Furthermore, a case can be made that to be spoiled (the spoilee) is not a bad thing if you can work it, however what the one doing the spoiling (the spoiler) gains from the exchange is nebulous at best. With this in mind, if anyone cares, a Porsche would be nice.