I spent a lot of years walking jauntily down the Magnificent Mile in Chicago in warm winter coats and snappy new boots. Or sashaying in a flippy skirt and whatever sandals were in style that summer. I would either ignore or get angry with the street people who aggressively put the hit on me for money. I would avert my eyes, just like many of you do. Or I would think with disdain, “I work for a living. The hell I’ll give you my hard-earned money so that you can buy drugs.” So, you want to hear the most interesting twist of fate? Since I have found myself in considerably less fortunate circumstances, I have given more money to those on the street than I did all those many, many years when I was fat and happy. Even when I’m down to my last bit of change that I have scrounged out of my coat pockets or seat cushions, I give a little. And I take the subsequent “God Bless You!” truly to heart.
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