Emerging Courageous Online Magazine

Bruce the Bum by Donna Wallace

"Jennifer, go!" I ordered. "Just walk up to him and ask him if he does yard work. If he says yes, then tell him that your mother wants to talk to him and lead him back to the car!"

"Mom. No! Please. I don't want to go," she replied.

"Go now! Knock it off and do what you're told!" I firmly told her.

We had just finished our grocery shopping and were pulling out of the parking space when I saw him. The bum. You could surely tell he was homeless, he was skinny and wearing rags. He held a sign that read, "Will work for food." Rain had been coming down in buckets all day long, and the poor man was dripping wet. Soaked, from head to toe. He more aptly resembled an old, weary, drowned rat, than he did a human being. For some reason my heart just went out to him, as I saw the glazed over, empty stare with which he greeted the world around him.

Although I felt sorry for this lonely stranger, I still was apprehensive about what I was planning on doing. I had never done anything like it before. I gulped anxiously as my daughter opened her door and stepped outside. I watched her slowly walk over to the man, already regretting that I even had dreamt us into the predicament.

I saw my daughter mumbling something quickly as she seemed to walk almost past the stranger. He bowed his head to listen, nodded and began to slowly walk back to my car.

"Oh no." I thought. "It's too late now, here he comes."

He walked up to my door on the driver's side of the car and smiled. Half of his teeth were missing altogether and the other half were rotting in his mouth. "Oh God," I thought, "Now what have I done to us?" His eyes were sunk halfway back into his head and they looked as though they had never seen love, or kindness before. I looked again and thought I saw anger in his eyes. He didn't look straight at me, but bowed his head. "In Shame?" I wondered. What exactly was he so angry at? The world? People? Me?

Again, I gulped. My heart seemed to be stuck in my throat and I wondered if I could even speak a syllable. I tried to talk and a word squeaked out of my mouth. "Yep, guess it's working," I thought to myself. I asked him if he did yard work, verifying my daughter's silent answer. He said that he surely did. I told him that my house was just a couple blocks away and I asked him if he could possibly go there with me now, see what had to be done, and decide if he could help me out. He grinned again and nodded his okay.

He opened the passenger door, let my daughter in, and sat down in the front seat. On the short trip back home we barely had enough time to exchange introductions. Too soon for me, we pulled up in my driveway. Immediately I felt the fear crawl up my back. I felt it raise the hair on the back of my neck as it began to turn to terror. "Oh my God," I cried inwardly. "Please God protect us, please, let everything be okay," I prayed.

I parked the car and grabbed in the backseat for some of the groceries. "Here, let me help," said the bum.

"Don't call him a bum," I chastised myself, "His name is Bruce. Call him Bruce."

I was hesitant and somewhat nervous to show the bum where I lived. Bruce is his name, I corrected myself once again, and I reminded myself to call the stranger by name.

I quickly decided that, at least, I would leave all the doors wide open, and I immediately escorted him to the backyard. I was a bit apprehensive for my daughter's safety, and for my own. I was aware of the many dangers in letting strangers into your home. I looked again at Bruce, and almost felt ashamed of my trepidation. Bruce was even smaller, and frailer than I was. He was barely the size of my young daughter! I knew that there was no way Bruce could ever overpower me. The poor man looked as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal for months. He was malnourished, and visibly weakened by his hunger. It seemed unlikely that he enjoyed a decent roof over his head in a long time, and I began to wonder what story he had to share with me. My fear began to cease, and pity began to replace the emotion.

I escorted Bruce to the backyard, after quickly placing my shopping bags down on a chair. The rain had finally stopped, and though the sky still was dark and gray, a rainbow graced the sky. Bruce eagerly pointed it out to me, as we walked through the back yard. We reviewed the yard, with me pointing out all the problems I longed to have repaired. Bruce just silently nodded his head in agreement, as he walked all over the yard. After the initial assessment, I brought us both out sodas to the backyard and we sat at the picnic table and discussed what had to be done. Bruce seemed agreeable to doing everything that I wanted him to do, and seemed anxious to begin his work. I questioned Bruce as to what he thought were fair wages. My husband did work full time, but he wasn't paid a high wage, and money was always tight. Bruce said that he was more concerned about getting a hot, home-cooked meal than money right then. He asked me if I was planning on cooking dinner. I smiled and assured him that I was definitely planning a home cooked meal, and that he was certainly invited to join in the meal. Another wide, toothless smile appeared on his face, and he turned and walked toward the backyard once again.

I spent a short time gathering tools and supplies for Bruce to use in his work, and went inside to put away the groceries and start the evening meal. Every so often I glanced outside to see what Bruce was doing. He seemed to be slowly, but methodically weeding the retaining wall against the far back wall. I shrugged and decided that one place was just as good as another to start the long, tedious job.

Soon I looked outside and noticed Bruce squatting in the middle of the yard, just gazing at the sky, and the orchard that loomed behind our home. I went back to my chores, but periodically looked to see Bruce's progress. "Oh no!" I moaned, to myself. Bruce was spending far more time just resting on his laurels than he was weeding. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he was hired to do a job, and I was planning to pay him on an hourly basis. "Oh no." I moaned once again. "What have I done to myself," I wondered. Mad at myself, for getting into this situation, I decided that picking up a stranger was definitely NOT a wise thing to do, and I secretly started to question what it would take to lose my newfound "friend." He knew where I lived! He could knock on my door whenever he chose to. Again, I felt the prickly fear take hold of my neck and hairline. "I really did it to us this time," I sadly muttered.

The afternoon wore on, and I busied myself with my wifely duties. Occasionally I would glance outside and Bruce was either, slowly and silently weeding the retaining wall, or immersed in gazing at the sky around him. Finally my husband arrived home from work, and dinner was ready to serve. I walked my husband, Dan, outside to introduce him to our new worker. I had discussed my day with Dan, and how Bruce came to be kneeling in our back yard, pulling weeds. I told him about how slow Bruce seemed to work, and how often he seemed to appear more involved with looking at the sky above, than in pulling the weeds. I shared my fear that I may have done an unwise thing, and my hopes that everything would magically work out, in the end.

Bruce walked in with us and we all sat down to dinner. He ate with vigor. Hungrily, he emptied his plate and then shyly, but politely, asked for seconds. There was more than enough food to go around, and we all enjoyed the meal, talking, and getting to know one another, as we ate our dinner. After dinner Bruce bid us adieu, but promised that he would return in the morning. The next morning, just like clockwork, Bruce knocked on our door. I opened it and he greeted with me a delightful smile and the words, "Good morning!" Bruce was ready to start the day. He looked almost anxious for the day to begin.

Once again, throughout the day, I noticed that Bruce was surely not a whirlwind. I decided that actually, even though I was a bit impatient, I had no time schedule for the work to be completed. Any help Bruce was able to offer was appreciated, and I realized early on in the relationship that Bruce was not a man to be rushed, or to punch a time clock. Bruce took his time. He worked, he sat, and he gazed at the miracles around him, he appreciated each new day, and he always had a smile on his face and a song in his heart. At the end of each day I would ask him how much I owed him for the day and he was always more than fair in his assessment of how many hours he actually spent working in the yard. Perhaps there wouldn't have been many jobs that Bruce would have been capable of accomplishing. He surely couldn't work in a structured environment, and I doubt if he ever had any plans on getting a real job, or learning a career. He was happy just living in the here and now, and appreciated each new day for the miracle it was.

As the days turned into weeks Bruce became more like a member of our family. I learned that he indeed did not have a place to call his own, and he lived very meagerly. He owned a couple sets of clothing and a sleeping bag. It just automatically came to be that Bruce began to spend his nights at our house. He slept on the floor in a vacant room, which had already been completed in the remodeling. Each night he would quietly say his goodnights, and he disappeared behind the door in the room in which he now called his own. Every morning, before venturing outside, he would see to it that his sleeping bag was rolled up, and neatly stored inside of the closet. The room looked as though nobody had slept in it at all.

Weeks slowly turned into months, and I began to recognize subtle changes in Bruce's demeanor and attitude. For one, he was not so self-conscious, and he was quick to smile widely and openly, displaying his lack of teeth without even giving it a second thought. The more time he spent around the house, the more comfortable and outgoing Bruce became. Soon he felt almost like family. Especially to me, because I was the person who spent the most time in his company. Jennifer was in school all day and Dan worked long, hard hours and never came home before dark.

Over the many months Bruce had opened up to me and spoke of horrors he had suffered. Horrors that even I could not have ever imagined. We became close friends and comrades. We shared the horrors and the humor of our lives and we grew very close and comfortable with each other. The closeness we shared was somehow unearthly and we had proven to be both each other's student and each other's teacher. Bruce and I had somehow become each other’s friend. I realized that we were going to be moving one day soon, as our home was on the market and at the moment I knew I was going to miss my new friend, Bruce.

As the time approached to move Bruce found another home to house sit and as I drove him back to the house he was house-sitting one night I reflected on how much our relationship had changed. We were no longer strangers, or even worker vs. boss. There were no awkward silences and we both comfortably chatted back and forth with one another. I pulled up in front of the house he was staying at and put the car in park. We said a brief goodbye, and then suddenly, without warning, Bruce lunged at me and quickly, but tenderly kissed me full on the lips! I sat frozen, and in fear for the second time since I met him. A million thoughts raced through my mind and ended in a mound of confusion. Bruce slowly sat back in his seat and, looking me straight in the eyes he murmured that he loved me. Again I panicked in quick confusion, not understanding exactly what was happening, or why.

Then I saw Bruce's eyes. Eyes filled with love. God's love. I no longer saw eyes brimming with hatred, or fear. I no longer saw angry eyes. Eyes that spoke the tales of horrors and indecencies that they had been held a victim of. "Yes," I realized, he did love me. My body relaxed comfortably as I realized what the interchanged signified. He was not in love with me in a romantic sense but he loved my caring, gentle heart. He loved what he saw in me. He was not used to being treated with kindness and respect. Perhaps I was the first person who ever treated this poor, lost man as an equal. I had been able to show him how beautiful he truly was and for that he loved me.

My mind flashed back to the day I found him. I realized how very much he had changed from the person he was on that day. I realized how much he had learned and how much he had grown. I understood how much my family and I had been able to teach this special man. Silently, almost without being noticed we had been able to teach him so many lessons he sorely needed to know. We taught him that all men were created equal, and that he deserved to be treated as our equal. He deserved to live, and love, and laugh. He deserved to be treated respectfully, and with kindness. I looked into his face once again, and I saw that now Bruce didn't bow his head in shame. He no longer felt uneasy and insecure to be around me. He was no longer ashamed of his appearance. He no longer was uncomfortable to live in his own skin. He now looked me in the eyes, and his features had softened and mellowed. He no longer was scary looking to me. He was no longer a bum. He was Bruce. My friend, Bruce ~ The Bum.

We said our good-byes and he left the car and went into his temporary new home. I sat in the dark gathering my thoughts, so many truths falling into place. Suddenly I understood how much Bruce had taught me also. I had started out trying to help this helpless, poor, homeless man. I had tried to teach him that he had worth and that he was a child of God, just like me. In the end Bruce had taught me far more lessons than I had ever been able to teach him.

Bruce taught me that I could be compassionate, just for kindness sake and not just if there was something in it for me. I learned that my family and I were givers, not just more of this troubled world's takers. I learned that if you treated someone decently, in turn they treated you the same way. I learned to go beyond face value and see the person for what he was inside, and I had learned that if you gave love, that love was in return received by you. I had experienced the miracle of change. I had seen a man with no self worth or self-pride become a mountain of a man, just because a little human kindness was directed his way. And I had learned that with God all things really are possible.

I sat in the dark, in the safety of my car, and cried openly and profusely for the gifts I had received. Bruce was not an influential man, or a rich man, or a scholar, but Bruce the "Bum" had taught me the meaning of life. He had been able to teach me far more than any other human being ever had, no matter how successful or intelligent they had been. Bruce, in his own quiet, unique way had taught me the meaning of unconditional love and acceptance. I finally knew why God had put me on Earth. Humans were put on earth to help their fellow man. The purpose for our existence isn’t to see how much money we can save, how high up the corporate ladder we can climb or how many toys we can buy.

Our purpose is to love one another. Our purpose is to make one another more than they were before we met them. More special, more caring and loving, and basically just more Human. Make each other “more” and never any “less” In doing so we make ourselves “more” and, in the end, the world “more” – it’s a “win/win” situation.

All of a sudden I remembered a line from an old song, "People. People who need people, are the luckiest people in the world." Suddenly I knew this to be true, and I was instantly aware of how very lucky and blessed I was. I wept tears of joy and thanked God for all my blessings and for guiding me on my journey toward the truth. I now knew my purpose. That is something so many of us never have the chance to learn. I can't express exactly how blessed I felt, that I had found my answer before my life had passed me by.

Everything begins, and ends with God. God is the reason, and God is the answer.

I never saw Bruce again. The house had already been sold and we moved before he came around again. We lost touch completely. My husband and I look for Bruce in his old haunts now and then with no success. He is gone, but he has never been forgotten. Still today, whenever I see a slightly built man wearing used and tattered clothing my heart skips a beat and I look closely, hoping that I've found him once again. I look in every “bum's” eyes searching for Bruce. I sometimes wonder if I saw Bruce’s eyes today what story they would tell me. Would they tell me that life had continued to be kind to him and treated him as he deserved to be treated? Or would they speak of more untold horror stories he had suffered? I doubt that I will ever know. But I hope and I pray that his eyes still would show the gentle tenderness they did that last night.

I pray that his eyes still are filled with love.

God's love. The Greatest Love Of All.

This story is dedicated, in fondness and respect to all the “Bruce's” of the world.

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