I was the companion he referred to. What he failed to mention was the rest of
the story. That was a cold, foggy, Sunday morning. As we sat in the train
station, we saw 3 beggar kids climb out from under a box bench seat. As they
left for their day on the streets, I looked under the bench. I could see a
couple old blankets, a couple old pair of shoes and socks, and the remains of a
very old coat. I still have a lump in my throat as I remember that experience.
Every ounce of feeling sorry for myself, because I wasn't home with my
family on that great celebration day, hung in my throat like a giant lump as I
realized just how lucky I was.