John’s Story

I’d like to tell you about a man at work named John. He gave me permission to share his story, although I’ve changed his name out of respect.

This story could also be called, “A man so lost he doesn’t know which way is up”.

John is very small in stature. He is very thin, and short. He looks well beyond his years (he is 46 but looks about 60)…and he is missing a lot of teeth. The teeth he does have are all brown, and his face is deeply wrinkled. And he is a hot-head, meaning that he lets his temper get the better of him sometimes (not ever with me, but with others…and he swears quite a bit).

John was a resident in training (meaning he was training to become a resident staff member), when I started my job as the food coordinator and supervisor. He latched on to me quite quickly. He would leave notes on my desk…notes of gratitude, and although I knew they were written by and were from John…he would always sign the notes from all of the guys in the kitchen. He seemed to follow me everywhere and always wanted to talk to me. He wanted guidance…that’s for certain…not only about his job…but about life in general. He seemed to hang on my every word…as if it were gold or something. I can only guess that no one has taken the time to listen and talk to him in a while.

I go to the food bank at least twice a week for produce and milk…one day John asked if he could go with me, so I let him. It was actually a relief to have someone to help me lug heavy boxes around. You should see me do this by myself…I’m sure it looks quite hilarious. I climb into a big, old truck (that was donated to us), I have to pull the seat all the way forward just to reach the pedals, and oh dear God…the seatbelt makes me want to vomit. It smells like a stinky, sweaty, shirtless man who hasn’t showered in a month had it against his bare skin in 110 degree heat…then the windows were rolled up and it was left to bake in the sun for a few months! No kidding…it literally makes me gag…I should try to bleach it. Anyway, I pull this big truck up to the food bank, get out and begin to lift heavy boxes of produce into the truck. Sometimes I feel like this tiny, little girl doing a job meant for a big man (lol). So having John with me was nice for a change. Although he is very skinny and not much taller than I am…he is chivalrous and insisted on lifting the boxes for me.

One day on the way to the food bank, he began to share a story with me about his ex-wife. He told how she had been having an affair with his best friend for three years and he didn’t know it. One day she left him and he found her at his friend’s house. He pulled a gun on them and held them hostage. He said that the gun didn’t have any bullets, but of course he didn’t tell them that. The SWAT team was called, and the standoff was a huge and scary ordeal…but ended with no one getting hurt. (Strangely, I wasn’t afraid of John, even though he was telling me this.)

He told me that he is an alcoholic but that he had been sober for 3 months. He also told me some humiliating stories from when he was drinking, and the state he found himself in when he came to the shelter the most recent time (this is his third time there).

Driving to the food bank became John’s time to share his life story with me. One day he said, “I’ve got something to tell you. It’s really strange…but it’s true. My mom called last night (she is in Ohio) at 3:00 a.m. I was scared to death that something was wrong…so I kept asking her, ‘What’s wrong, mom?’ She told me that nothing was wrong…that she was very happy. She said that she had just had a dream and in the dream it was like God was telling her that I was going to be okay. She is always worried about me, because I’ve always been in trouble, and she never knows if I’m back on the streets or not. Then she said, ‘I had a dream that you are going to be okay…and also that you have a woman in your life.’ I said to her, ‘Mom, you are crazy…I’m not married and I don’t have a girlfriend…there is no woman in my life.’ And she said, “Yes there is…her name is Holley and she is your mentor.”

John said that the hairs on his neck and arms stood up…and he couldn’t believe what she had just said. He said that he had never mentioned me to her.

Of course I have no idea if this is true or not…but he swears it is.

John was on his way up. The shelter paid for him to get his driver’s license and gave him the driver position, (the driver picks up donations from stores and bakeries). He got his license on Friday and was to start his new job on Monday. Monday morning I showed up for work and was informed that John was no longer a resident or employee of the shelter. Saturday he got drunk, after 3 months of sobriety. They have a zero tolerance policy at the shelter and so he was immediately asked to leave.

I didn’t know where he was, although I was certain that he was back on the streets. I figured he was hungry, and too humiliated to come eat at the shelter. On the third day he showed up and waited outside. He sent someone in to get me, and as I approached him he looked down. He couldn’t bring himself to look me in the eye. I asked if he was okay…and he said that he was. I asked if he had a place to sleep and he told me that he had a sleeping bag. I put my arms around him and held him for a moment and as I did, he began to cry. He then looked me in the eye and said, “I want to apologize as a man for messing up.” He continued to cry and said a total of three times that he wanted to apologize as a man…which I took to mean that his messing up made him feel like less of a man. So I said, “John…everyone messes up. It doesn’t mean you are less of a man…it just means you messed up. In fact, it takes a real man to admit his mistakes and apologize. We all make mistakes…I’ve made dire mistakes in my life. It’s all about learning from them…even if you’ve made the same mistakes many times over…it’s life trying to teach you something. Just pull yourself up and start over. And please get back in the shelter.” (He will not be allowed to be a resident staff member again because this is the third time he has done this very thing, but he can get a bed for the next 30 days.) I asked him to please come in and eat every day. He told me that he was going to his AA sponsor’s house to apologize, but promised that he would come back to eat. He told me that he loved me. I hugged him then he walked away. I haven’t seen him since. I think about him often. I wonder if he’s cold, and hungry, and lonely. I hope he is getting help.

No one told me this job could be so heartbreaking.

(On another note…while I was just re-reading this, I noticed an unusual amount of 3s in the story. John’s wife had been having an affair with his best friend for 3 years. John had been sober for 3 months.  His mom called at 3:00 a.m.  He apologized “as a man” 3 times. I didn’t see him for 3 days. And this is his third time to be kicked out of the shelter for drinking. If anyone knows anything about numerology, and this means anything…I’d be interested to know about it.)

I never thought it would be my son

Virtually all of my teenage life (from Jr. High through high school and beyond) my mom and I wore the same size clothes. This suited me very well because she always had very cute clothes and didn’t mind sharing. She wore my clothes as well so we each had double the wardrobe. As an extra special bonus…we also wore the same size shoes! And since we both consider ourselves to be shoe enthusiasts, we always had lots of cute shoes to choose from and share.

She had certain rules when it came to make-up and dating…rules that I place on my children to this day. Back then, I considered these rules to be rather strict compared to the rules my friends had to follow. By today’s standards, they seem downright oppressive, but they served me well, and they will serve my children well. I was not allowed to date until I was 15 and then it had to be a double date. At age 16 I was allowed to go out alone with a guy, but they had to meet him first, (which was rather ridiculous considering I lived in a small town and everyone knew everyone). The only makeup I was allowed to wear until I was 14 was lip gloss.

When I entered high school, she bought me makeup and showed me how to apply it. She has used Clinique for as long as I can remember…but kept me knee deep in “Cover girl” products in effort to keep me out of her makeup. She always had the greatest perfumes…I used the cheaper ones…my favorites being, Love’s Baby Soft, and Jovan Musk for women, but I used hers every chance I got. I also used her razor to shave my legs.

In short…my mom’s room and closet were a teenage girl’s dream come true. I remember looking at her and wanting to dress like her, and wear makeup and perfume, but having to wait patiently to grow into the “magic” age. When I reached the “magic” age, I hit her room like a hurricane. She never seemed to mind sharing anything (except her expensive makeup).

I’ve always thought that the rules I grew up with, were pretty good rules, and planned on using the same rules with my kids. The funny thing is, that my kids don’t seem to be biting at the bit to “grow up” like I was.

The only makeup my daughter is allowed to wear is lip gloss (except during dance performances). She has never even asked to wear any other makeup. I’ve also bought her Love’s baby soft perfume…but she doesn’t use it. She is a total clothes/shoes freak…and I do indulge her a bit too much in that area. But for the most part she just seems to be this content little person.

When my son was younger (now age 20 and in college) I told him that he would be allowed to double date when he was 15 and single date when he was 16. He never even questioned these rules. When he was 17, to my knowledge he had still never been on a date. I walked into his room one night (where he stayed most of the time, playing video games) and said, “Son, you do know that you are allowed to go out on dates, don’t you? Why don’t you go out with Vicky or some of your friends”. He laughed, and I do believe he called some friends and went out. But it was as though it never dawned on him to go out and have fun.

Hannah is never into my stuff, although I’m sure that will change drastically when she is a bit older.

Danny is a different story altogether. When he was two, I walked into my room and he had my lipstick all over him…it was all over his face and head. It was also all over the wall and the carpet. And when I walked in and shrieked in horror at the mess…he simply looked at me and giggled.

In the past few months he has stolen my deodorant, the shaving cream I use for my legs, my hair dryer, and my razor.

This strikes me as very funny. I expected this from my daughter…not my son.