Tattoos and coffee tell a story of survival
I met a guy named Jaime this week. The second we sat down he began to tell me his life story. I didn’t ask, but for some reason he felt like telling it.
I knew he had a story to tell. We all do. With him; however, he seemed to be ready to unload, like he was waiting for this moment to open up. Sometimes we are all just waiting for that moment.
Before today, I knew him as that guy that was working for a local agency that helps get people with drug habits get connected to resources. It’s tough work finding people who don’t recognize they need help and trying to shake them up until they break down and ask for it. That’s Jaime’s job.
He’s out on the streets, shaking things up. Visiting with people on their level. Just an ordinary guy talking to a neighbor and letting that neighbor know that he can come out of his life situation. There is a way out.
Jaime knows it because he lived it. I found that out within a minute of sitting down with him at a coffee shop. I ordered a simple café latte. He ordered some kind of oreo coffee with cookie chunks and whip cream. I knew then that we were different kind of people.
