No matter how hard I try to stay awake on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus always shows up after I fall asleep. On Christmas Day I wake up at the crack of dawn and rush to the living room where the white-bearded old man delivered the presents, carefully spread around the decorated tree. Woken up by cries of excitement – “Santa Claus was here! Santa Claus was here!” – my brothers and sisters join in for the unwrapping frenzy, followed by our parents who just watch in silence as we tear off gift-wrap, rip open cardboard boxes and start playing.
***
At the end of a family dinner in a Vietnamese restaurant, Mai whispers in my ear: “Watch out, my Mom is going to pay for all of us. She’s fast.” I reply just as stealthily: “Ok, I’ll take care of it. I’m faster.” Wink. I pretend to go to the bathroom and instead intercept the waiter. As he hands me the bill, a voice next to me asks: “Cedric, what are you doing?” The next scene involves two grown-ups arguing about whose credit card the waiter must charge the meal on. As often in such circumstances the male wins, helped by old-school gallantry rules. In the world of adults we often fight tooth and nail to be the generous ones. We give with pride and receive with embarrassment, sometimes even with guilt. How strange.
***
On this cold winter night I am walking down Powell Street, a busy San Francisco neighborhood filled with legions of tourists and dozens of panhandlers. I suddenly feel the urge to buy food for one of the beggars – something I have never done before. I ignore the first few homeless people I come across: they are intimidating and I don’t have the courage to approach them. Further down the street I spot a bearded man dressed in old rags. His eyes are full of kindness. There is something godly about him, although I can’t single out what it is. I ask if I can buy him something to eat. The man accepts with surprise and a broad smile. His name is Isaac, like the son of Abraham. We walk a few steps uphill to a nearby diner. The waitress smiles at me until she sees my companion and gives him a dirty look. “My friend and I are going to get dinner.” She pauses, mentally going through all possible excuses to not serve the dirty and stinky man standing on the other side of the counter. However the restaurant is open, most chairs are empty, and I am staring with a credit card in hand. Her face goes from threatening to disdainful as the hobo meticulously goes through the food display, visually savoring each dish, before finally pointing his finger: “It’s been so long since I had chocolate cake!” I attempt to convince him to eat a main course before dessert but Isaac’s mind is set on a big slice of cake and a hot cocoa topped with whipped cream. I add a warm chicken pie for my own account and the waitress asks the standard question: “For here or to go?” I turn to Isaac: “It would be warmer inside.” He shakes his head: “No, I prefer To Go.” We grab our food and exit the diner. Isaac sips his hot cocoa and warms his hands with the hot cup. He is going to eat the cake later in peace when he gets home. I ask where home is. “I am staying at a friend’s place until I figure something out. I am lucky I don’t have to sleep in the street.” We say goodbye and shake hands. Isaac blesses me as I walk away with a smile on my face and warmth in my heart. Sometimes the generous one is not who you would think.
Merry Christmas!
Cedric, 12/25/2011
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