The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't
been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. He had no
decorations, no tree, no lights. It was just another day to him. He
didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. There
were no children in his life. His wife had gone.
He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the
last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened up
and a homeless man stepped=2
0through. Instead of throwing the man out,
George, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to
come in and sit by the space heater and warm up.
"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see
you're busy. I'll just go." "Not without something hot in your belly,"
George said. He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to
the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew. Made it
myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh."
Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse
me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53
Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked.
"Mister, can you help me?" said the driver with a deep Spanish accent.
"My wife is with child and my car is broken." George opened the hood.
It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold; the car was dead.
"You ain't going in this thing. George said as he turned away.
"But mister. Please help..." The door of the office closed behind
George as he went in. George went to the office wall and got the keys
to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building
and opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where
the couple was waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the
best thing you've ever looked at, but sh
e runs real good." George
helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the
night. George turned and walked back inside the office.
"Glad I gave 'em the truck. Their tires were shot, too. That 'ol truck
has brand new..." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but
the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty with a used coffee
cup beside it. "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George
thought.
George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It
cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the
truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do.
Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the block hadn't
cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I
can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on. "Those tires
ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads
off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't going
to drive the car.
As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and
beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from
the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Help me!" George helped the
officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the
Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop
the bleeding,"
he thought. The uniform company had been there that
morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to
bind the wound.
"Hey, they say duct tape can fix anything," he said, trying to make the
policeman feel at ease. "Something for the pain," George thought. All
he had was the pills he used for his back. "These oughta work." He put
some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in
there. I'm gonna get you an ambulance." The phone was dead. "Maybe I
can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car."
He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard
destroying the two-way radio. He went back in to find the policeman
sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could've left me out
there. The guy that shot me is still in the area." George sat down
beside him. "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't
gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding.
"Looks worse than it is. Bullet passed right through ya. Good thing it
missed the important stuff though. I think with time you're gonna be
right as rain." George got up and poured a cup of coffee.. "How do you
take it?" he asked. "None for me," said the officer. "Oh, yer gonna
drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts."
The officer laughed and winced at the same time.20The front door of the
office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your
cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George
could tell that he had never done anything like this before.
"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer. "Son, why are you
doing this?" asked George. You need to put the cannon away. Somebody
else might get hurt." The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or
I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!" The cop was reaching for
his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop. "We got one too
many in here now." He turned his attention to the young man.
"Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need the money, well then, here. It
ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pea shooter away." George
pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching
for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his
grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good
at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son,"
he went on. "I've lost my job. My rent is due.
My car got repossessed last week..."
George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze
now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the
best we can." He got the young man to his feet, and
sat him down on a
chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George
handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Being stupid is one of the
things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer.
Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."
The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I
shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry, officer." "Shut up and drink
your coffee," the cop said. George could hear the sounds of sirens
outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came
through the door, guns drawn.
"Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer. "Not bad
for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?" "GPS locator in the
car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked
as he approached the young man. Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The
guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran." George and
the young man both looked puzzled at each other. "That guy work here?"
the wounded cop continued. "Yep," George said. "Just hired him this
morning. Boy lost his job." The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck
onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and
whispered, "Why?" Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas, boy. And you too,
George, and thanks for everything."
"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a bre
ak there. That ought to
solve some of your problems." George went into the back room and came
out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go. Something for
the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would
come in handy some day."
The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever
saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to
you." "And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my
memories. That's all I need." George reached into the box again. An
airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil
company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man
of yours."
The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the
old man had handed him earlier. "And what are you supposed to buy
Christmas dinner with? You keep that too," George said. "Now git home
to your family."
The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here
in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good." "Nope. I'm
closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after."
George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd
you come from? I thought you left?" "I have been here. I have always
been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas.
Why?" "Well, after my wife passed aw
ay I just couldn't see what all the
bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine
tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by
myself and besides I was getting a little chubby."
The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate
the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I
was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will
become a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19
people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob
you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. That is the
spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."
George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you
know all this?" asked the old man. "Trust me, George. I have the inside
track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be
with Martha again." The stranger moved toward the door.
"If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now.
I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."
George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the
stranger was wearing
turned into a white robe.
A golden light began to fill the room. "You see, George... it's my
birthday.
Merry Christmas."
George fell to his knees and replied,
0A"Happy Birthday, Lord."
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