The Hobo

 I went exploring in a neighboring town last week. I decided to sit and rest on a concrete seat in the center of town. A very unusual man walked over and politely asked if he could sit next to me. I assured him I did not mind and patted the seat next to mine. This man seemed to be in his seventies. He had an unkempt beard that needed a wash and comb very badly. His nails were almost an inch long with a yellowish tint to them.

I began giving his clothes a close inspection. His pants were ripped and his shirt dingy and spotted. Smiling at me with stained teeth, he asked if I minded if he talked to me a bit. I answered him with a half forced smile. I told the old man I did not mind if he talked with me. This strange, unusual man began to tell me of his life. He told me of his passions, his dislikes, his journeys and his dreams. I admit I was extremely touched by his words. Even more than feeling touched by his stories, I felt ashamed of myself. The more I listened to this man, the greater my shame grew.

I originally believed he was just another bum or tramp. I soon learned he was not. He explained the difference in a bum, a tramp and a Hobo. He informed me he was a Hobo and had been a Hobo his entire adult life. A bum is someone who asks for things and is not willing to work for them. A tramp will try to manipulate you out of things. A hobo will work for what he needs and wanders from town to town. In this unkempt, smelly old man, I found a wonderful human being.

I sat in that spot for two hours listening to extraordinary tales of his life. I discovered many things that afternoon about the hobo. I also discovered a few things about myself. This was one of the most intelligent men I ever spoke with. He was also one of the most polite. I went home and asked for forgiveness for thinking one second that I could be a better person than anyone else. I expected him to meet all my standards, when most likely, I didn’t even meet his. By: Wendy Noel