A Classical Lesson

"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me." Matthew 25:45

He stepped on at 14th Street and stood silently anticipating the doors to shut out the white noise behind him. I met his meek eyes from across the subway car. He shamefully looked down and clutched the worn wool hat to his chest. I noticed his pale yellow button down was torn in a few places and the arms looked as though they had been dragged through the dirty puddles that gathered at the bottom of the station steps. His dated KSwiss sneakers were soaking wet. He couldn't have been over 20 years old. His unsteady voice was faint...

"Excuse me ladies and gentleman, I am a young opera singer. I am struggling terribly to keep my head above water and am in and out of homeless shelters. Please if you have anything to share, I would be gracious...This is Tchaikovsky."

This time he opened his quivering mouth and out flowed the most magnificent controlled sound you have ever heard. Opera on the 6 Local. Tears immediately rolled down my cheeks as I witnessed a usually stiff lipped jaded crowd reach inside their wallets and a look of complete compassion spread across their faces.

Humbled.

My feeling sorry for myself notes I scribbled on a napkin at work became a moot point. I am blessed beyond measure. I step over the garbage bags riddled with rats, have a coat for all seasons and every night come home to an over heated dry, comfortable bed.

I work six hours in a fortuitous back rubbing industry that thrusts people into wild success not based necessarily on ability, but on sheer luck. This real talent was down on his.

I rode one more stop, dropped a meager dollar in his hat, and again sang my praises of gratitude.

Do you think you have it hard?