Building community means lifting everyone, even the nameless
Every morning I see the same man pass by my house. I live across the street from a gas station/convenience store. He walks in the same direction, moving slowly, not because he can’t walk quickly but probably because he knows where he is going. He knows where he will end up for the day.
He has a cup in hand and he sips. His hair is standing up in all different directions. He’s tall and lean. He wears the same outfit almost daily. I’m describing him because I don’t know his name.
Sometimes, on my morning walk, we cross paths. He never looks me in the eye or initiates conversation. When I’m brave enough, I share a “hello” or “good morning.” Only when I’m brave enough.
I always tell myself that I’m going to stop and ask his name. Maybe shake his hand. He must be a neighbor. After all, he’s usually somewhere around the corner. He doesn’t seem to bother anyone, and he’s never seen with anyone else.
It’s always just him. A man with a cup, walking away from the gas station and towards the downtown center. I don’t know his name or where he lives because I’m like most other people, afraid to get to know someone that is not like me.
So, I gave him a nickname. To me, he is Alfred. I named him that because in my hometown there used to be another man…
