More Than Coffee
By Dani Wickingson
The man tore open the small, brown packets with shaky hands. Sugar spilled from the packets and bounced around on the table. His tired eyes glanced at the dancing granules before focusing back on the small cup of water before him. He poured the sugar into the water and stirred mindlessly, fixating his eyes on the ground.
I saw others look at him from the corners of their eyes. Nobody was bold enough to stare, but they were certainly interested. Everybody in the coffee shop had him judged the moment they set their eyes on him—just another homeless man, up to no good.
The man did stand out. His clothes were grimy and I was certain they hadn’t been washed in ages. His beard was wiry and jutted out in all directions. Wrinkles covered his face and caused his eyelids to droop over his eyes, and even so, I could not mistake the sadness within them. I felt sad for him. I felt sad that so many were quick to judge this man on circumstances they couldn’t possibly know. He didn’t bother anybody; he minded his own business—yet, he was completely isolated the moment he walked in. |
I felt sad that he desired the taste of something sweet, and fulfilled this with eight ounces of sugar water. I thought, how often do we, of better circumstances, take the sweetness of a latte for granted? Could I ever look to a cup of sugar water to satisfy a sweet tooth?
This man didn’t have much and it was obvious. No place to stay warm on cold days. No place to wash his clothes. No place to trim his unruly hair and beard. He had a cup of sugar water, but did that really amount to anything? I didn’t think so.
The very least I could do to help this man was buy him a coffee—one that was sweet, one that could warm him up on such a chilly day. And so I did.
This man didn’t have much and it was obvious. No place to stay warm on cold days. No place to wash his clothes. No place to trim his unruly hair and beard. He had a cup of sugar water, but did that really amount to anything? I didn’t think so.
The very least I could do to help this man was buy him a coffee—one that was sweet, one that could warm him up on such a chilly day. And so I did.
The small, sad smile that tugged at his lips and the genuine, “Thank you,” that he quietly muttered was enough for me to understand that this man needed this gesture.
People looked at him and they looked at me. I’m not sure what they were thinking, but they shifted their eyes just the same as before. Perhaps they were confused as to why I would buy this man a coffee or perhaps they were considering doing the same thing. I don’t know. What I do know is this: simple gestures—holding a door open for somebody, helping a blind man across campus, or buying coffee for a homeless man drinking sugar water—have potential to |
affect people in a much deeper way than we might initially think. From the outside looking in, they may seem trivial, but a small act of kindness can reverberate, from one person to the next, and across the entire world.