Patrick lost his right leg in Afghanistan while serving with the United States Marine Corps. He had been shot twice with a Kalashnikov and the damage was so severe they had to amputate it. He was out on Fifth Avenue asking for money so that he could save enough to get a prosthetic leg so that he could get a job. He has his construction license and a culinary degree but both professions would require him to stand up.
Patrick had a lot to say. He told me he lost his cash benefits from the military (though he still retained his medical insurance) because he moved to Toronto after he married a Canadian citizen. After four years in Canada, he got deported and can no longer return. He is still trying to bring his wife here.
For the first time since I’ve started talking to homeless people, someone else stopped to talk to the same person. An older gentleman, a professional, engaged Patrick in a warm conversation, thanked him for his service and then took down his phone number so that he could reach out Patrick so that he could give him a hand. I asked the gentleman, Neil, why he stopped to help. Neil said, “Matthew 25: ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ I stopped to help because Jesus told me to.”
When I asked him what he wanted the people who pass him on the street to know about him he said, “I don’t want them to know me. People don’t even say. ‘boo’. I want them to know that thousands of my brothers have died. Appreciate your freedom.”