2nd Chance for Morality

Below is an essay I wrote about an incident
on the train, and how it tied to my morality.
Please read it before reading the appended portion.
The appended piece will be below the main article.
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About a day or so ago, just a day much like any other,
myself and girlfriend commence our evening train ride
home. As the ride proceeds I read my book on the
Mayfair Witches and carry on listening to my Ipod.
Nothing unusual at this point, nothing much to say.

Alas much to my dismay the connecting train doors are
being opened, and as is often the case in this wonderful
city of ours here comes a gentleman requesting financial
assistance from the riders. As is the protocol in such
scenarios I block out the expected "please help, thank you
sir, please help" and carry on with my reading. The only
indications at this point that he is a man asking for money
are the audible statements, however I cannot help but look,
thus I realize that this poor man is not a drunk, nor a
pathetic fool who has brought ill fate upon himself via the
use of illicit drugs and much drink. This man is a man with
a genetic illness, an illness that deforms ones face, affects
ones speech and deems one practically incapable of living a
normal life. I can see that the man carries a plastic medical
paper with the details of his illness, and pictures pertaining
to the timeline of the illness, however this is not where I
gain my information, but merely by looking at him.

At this point I wanted to reach into my pocket and provide this
man with some help, I felt it was right, however I could not move.
I could not will my body to carry out the actions I wanted, my eyes
remained on my book though I was not reading. In fact I was struggling
within myself, I could not take action and I do not know why.

In retrospect I believe that I allowed my feelings of repulsion for
the average drunkard and junkie to carry over and prevent me from
doing what I wanted to do. I wanted to help this man. I wanted to
read and learn of the disease, I wished for the opportunity to walk
and talk with this man, perhaps hear of his life prior to this, his
days of normality.

Ahh but I fear I could not even look at the man, that along
do anything else. This moment of “struggle” also brought to
my mind a book I read once, "Sacred Journey of the peaceful
warrior". The main character "dan" in this book was confronted
with having to live in a leper village, this was part of his spiritual
training. He was required to help them with whatever they needed and
spend 1 full week in their ranks. Initially "dan" was repulsed by them,
he thought they were dirty, disgusting, contagious, he feared what he
did not know, much as is the case with most of us humans. However by
the end of the segment "dan" very much loved his new leper friends.
He stayed longer than was required by his master in the leper village
to help with a project he had started that he wished to see through to
the end. He accepted them and through this his spirit became greater.
I thought this fear I felt was much like "dan's" for the lepers initially,
I thought is my spirit weak, how far from inner strength am I?

Alas he passed by me and continued down the train. I heard the
undeniable roar of the trains as he opened the door and seemingly
disappeared, and I was left there alone with my conscience,
and my guilt for not having helped.

Several days have passed since this occurrence and in all honesty
I have not given it further thought since then. However last
night as I returned from visiting my son in the Bronx I heard
the doors of the train open, I recall thinking to myself here
comes the man with liquor in his breath, stench in his body,
looking for money for drink. But no, I hear the voice, I remember
this voice from days earlier, I look up from the very same book on
the Mayfairs and here is the man again. He wears black shades that
do not fit right, they merely sit above his lips due to his facial
deformity. He wears them no doubt to cover his face, and again I
hear "please help, thank you sir, please help". I could not
believe it and I said to myself in quite the audible tone
"God has given me a 2nd chance to fulfill my moral inclinations,
I thank you god".

This time I gladly reached into my back pocket and retrieved a
dollar for the man. I provided him with this and felt very good
to hear him thank me. I looked at him and gave him a smile.
I do hope my smile brought him comfort and perhaps sent to him
my regards and support if only with my dollar and a smile.

Perhaps he sees the goodness of people, I do not know.
Whatever the case is, I am happy, not happy for his
suffering but happy that god provided me a chance to
help one which I meant to help once before. I was given
a second chance to do what I would have done. For this
I am grateful, if only we had more second chances in life.

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APPENDED SECTION
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It was brought to my attention that I was mistaken about the
gentleman on the train. My girlfriend stated that she was able
to fully read his “medical papers” and that in fact it turns
out that this gentleman was not diseased but had some form of
acid make contact with his face. That he held a paper stating
he once led a normal life and could no longer work due to this
accident or attack. It appears that I was mistaken and I stand
corrected. Do I feel different, does this change things for me?
No, not at all. Everything I stated stands, only the cause of
the ailment has changed, but I remain constant in my feelings.
I have appended this only to clarify and to keep my writing factual.
Merely for this reason.