Last Christmas, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the car park asLast Christmas, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute > shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the > Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the car park as > I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I noticed > that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. > > As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet > sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years > old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged > shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill. Oddly enough, he was > holding a fifty pound note in his hand. Thinking that he had gotten lost > from his parents, I asked him what was wrong. He told me his sad story. He > said that he came from a large family. He had three brothers and four > sisters. His father had died when he was nine years old. His mother was > poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to > support her large family. > > Nevertheless, she had managed to skimp and save one hundred pounds to buy > her children Christmas presents. The young boy had been dropped off, by his > mother, on her way to her second job. He was to use the money to buy > presents for all his siblings and save just enough to take the bus home. He > had not even entered the shopping centre, when an older boy grabbed one of > the fifty pound notes and disappeared into the night. > > "Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked. > > The boy said, "I did." > > > "And nobody came to help you?" I wondered. > > The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. > > "How loud did you scream?" I inquired. > > The soft-spoken boy looked up and croaked feebly, "Help me!" > > I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry for > help. So I smacked him in the face, grabbed his other fifty and ran back > to my car. I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill. Oddly enough, he was holding a fifty pound note in his hand. Thinking that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong. He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He had three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine years old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed to skimp and save one hundred pounds to buy her children Christmas presents. The young boy had been dropped off, by his > mother, on her way to her second job. He was to use the money to buy > presents for all his siblings and save just enough to take the bus home. He > had not even entered the shopping centre, when an older boy grabbed one of > the fifty pound notes and disappeared into the night. > > "Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked. > > The boy said, "I did." > > > "And nobody came to help you?" I wondered. > > The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head. > > "How loud did you scream?" I inquired. > > The soft-spoken boy looked up and croaked feebly, "Help me!" > > I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry for > help. So I smacked him in the face, grabbed his other fifty and ran back > to my car.