THE GUITAR MAN

The Quiktrip, is a place where multiply lifestyles come together to fulfill their needs and/or wants.  I have begun to realize with these gathering of sort we bond in a similar way, one might bond in other community gatherings.  I know gathering at your local Quiktrip you may find it hard to compare it with a Sunday church, or maybe even a school activity with family.  Perhaps we should stop and think about how we communicate in those gatherings and then think about the gatherings at Quiktrip.  

When I arrived at Quiktrip the place was jammed with cars and the parking was slim.  I actually took the last parking place.  As I pulled in my eyes became focused on a man playing a guitar sitting in the shaded area in the corner against the building.  I remember sitting there thinking how awkward for two reasons; why isn’t he at the usual places you would see someone playing and not at what one would call a “gas station, and the other reason was next to him sitting on a jacket was a little boy of three.  The “Guitar Man” played his song and in front of him was a small man-made carbon box tapped together with clear plastic tape, where people could donate monies and in front of the boy was a half-eaten sandwich with a bottle of water on the side.  My mind was troubled with questions and trying to understand the picture as I got out of my car.  And as I entered the building, I struggled with finding myself judging the “Guitar Man” without knowing the story.  I kept telling myself the sadness I was feeling for the child was unjustified.  I purchase my object and as I begin to place my monies in the billfold I kept a dollar out.  I was not sure what I was going to say to the “Guitar Man.”  I just knew, I had not walked in his shoes and judging him made it wrong.  I approached them; dropped my money into the man-made box, as my eyes focused on the man playing the guitar, he thanked me.  And then he began to tell me his story; he said, him and his wife just came from Seattle; they do not start work until Monday.  He told me he is playing the guitar to get extra money.  I made comment on how much his son looked like him.  He replied to say his other son even looked more like him.  I noticed on the boy’s head there were three surgical scars and asked him about them. The “Guitar Man” replied in saying when the boy was born he has a clot in his brain and smiled.

I got into my car after wishing them well.  I put on my seat belt and started the car, my eyes focused on the “Guitar Man” and his son trying to continue to exist.  I put my car in reverse and as I pulled out I smiled, “thanking God for sharing with me someone’s story,” because I knew then the last parking place was saved for me.