He comes around often, asking for assistance, a fiver, a ten. The note says, "I am deaf. I need oil for my car." Or something along that line.
Some people hand him a couple of bucks, but we worldy-wise types just send him on his way with a list of assistance agencies. I have to admit, the first time he came to the office (gave him a list and walked him to the door) I couldn't help clapping my hands loudly behind his back to see if he reacted. He didn't and I felt ashamed.
A couple of weeks ago, my son told me about a deaf man that came around on Wednesday evening while the youth were meeting. I said, yeah, he's here a lot. "I think Mark gave him some money." That's fine.
Our financial secretary came into my office one day last week. She leaned toward my ear and whispered, "Tim, the deaf man is out there again."
"Oh, really?"
Still whispering. "Yes. Kay is writing him a note."
"Oh."
She started back to the hallway. I stopped her. "Angela," I spoke, full voice, "why are you whispering?"
"I don't know," she said, full voice. She giggled.
But I don't suppose he heard.
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