I was wiping down trays behind the counter when I noticed the man standing just outside the door. Torn flannel shirt, plastic bag over one shoulder, eyes kind but tired. He hesitated before walking in, and when he did, the smell of street dust and old clothes followed him. It wasn’t unusual—we’re right off the highway, so folks come in looking for warmth more than Whoppers. I was about to greet him when my 12-year-old, Nevan, beat me to it. He was sitting at the booth near the soda fountain,…
Read MoreHE ASKED WHAT HE COULD GET FOR 50 CENTS—MY SON’S ANSWER MADE ME SEE HIM DIFFERENTLY
