We Called Him Stitchy

1:46 AM

Last Friday, as my mom and I existed in a state of prolonged funk due to our individual and united financial plight, my mom came across a box of pictures. It was a mix of photos from the 90's and 00's (naughties perhaps?). Somewhere in the middle of scratching our heads and flipping through pictures, the world didn't seem such a dismal and dreary place. It was a beautiful day, for Pete's sake.

One of the many pictures my mom brought to my attention was one of a man sitting on a sheet of plywood being held up by buckets. To his right was a modest sound system sitting on two empty drink's crates. When my mom passed me the picture, she said it was a shame that he died. To this, I asked if he was dead, she reminded me that he died in a car accident caused by someone's careless driving. In fact, he was asleep when the accident happened.

He was called Stitchy. He was one of those people who used to hang around my mom's store. He always had a smile and I honestly can't remember if he viewed life as hard. He used to sell bootleg tapes around the corner and he was content with his lot in life. As time passed he moved on, like most people do, such is life. Sure, we would see him every now and then, on the street or in some random place. Hands would wave, smiles would crease faces and then it would be back to one's life.

Unfortunately, he died. On that Friday, as my mom flipped through pictures, she said that some of the pictures have people who died. It made me think of the people who had passed on who were kind of like Stitchy.

Papa Zuki, the professional jail man. He would come to my mom's store and buy fake chains and take them down to Heritage Quay and sell them as real jewelry. It didn't hurt that the wholesalers in NYC would stamp the three digit code on them which meant that they were real. People would come to us and we would pretend we knew nothing about it. He had a daughter who smoked (did marijuana), who in a way adopted us. He died

There was also a drug guy. We knew he was into drugs, but he was trying to do the same thing as Papa Zuki, selling fake jewelry as real. It was weird how he gravitated to our store, especially as he never rubbed me the right way. He died.

These men existed at one point, and at one point they were part of our story, our life. Thinking about it now, I think they kept coming to my mom's store, to us because we saw them, we heard them. They woke up every morning and they knew for sure that at least one group of people would acknowledge the fact that they woke up and were here. Maybe that is all some people need, someone to know that they are somebody.

So take a moment today or during the week and acknowledge another person. It could be a smile, a kind word, an act of kindness, email a friend to let them know that you are thinking about them, sit down and listen to an elderly person, call a friend and just listen. 

The cool thing is when you do this one thing for that other person, you will be blessed with something that will make you feel like a million bucks. In these moments, you will be connected to another human being on a whole new level. A level worth striving for.

Have a great week and remember, someone out there loves you.

You Might Also Like


Join Me On Instagram