I want to share some of what I’ve learned in the last few days about stereotypes. Stereotypes are not a pair of Smith-Coronas sitting side by side! (g) You probably know a lot of typical stereotypes already. You know, ALL Germans are stubborn; ALL Italians have fiery tempers; ALL Irish folks drink themselves silly; ALL Frenchmen are great kissers. It’s so easy for us to lump various groups of people together and then explain them with a catch phrase or two.

A few nights ago, I was sitting at one of my favorite parks rather late in the evening. I love going to this particular place because there’s usually no one else around, yet the lighting is adequate for safety. I don’t own a cell phone or a beeper. It’s about the only time in the day I can truly have time to think and plan and plot! (g) Nearly every time I go there, I see at least one raccoon and a couple of red foxes.

While sitting at a picnic table, I noticed an older man ride up on a bicycle. The bicycle had all kinds of things tied to it and stuffed in its baskets. He got off his bike about thirty feet from me and sat at another table. I glanced at him occasionally, and, since I’m a dyed-in-the-wool and inveterate people watcher, I sized him up and figured him out. All of this without a word passing between us! Pretty neato, eh?

It was obvious to me that he was a street person, a bum, an idler, a wastrel, a goldbrick, a goof-off, a laggard, a layabout, a do-nothing, a lazybones, a loafer, a ne’er-do-well, a shirker, a slacker, a slouch, a sluggard, a moocher, a panhandler, and an underachiever. (I shouldn’t really take credit for this string of synonyms. I got them from my Thesaurus. All these terms didn’t really come to mind at the time, but hyperbole seemed to help the humor!)

After all, his clothes were well-worn. He had a beard and rather shaggy hair. The only vehicle he owned was a bicycle. Keep in mind, I learned all this by my obviously superior powers of long distance observation! (g)

Everything went fine for about half an hour. He stayed on his end of the picnic area and I stayed on mine. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I really coveted my quiet, thinking time. I also didn’t want to be pressed into donating to his wine and beer fund!

Sure enough, he got up and came walking toward me. He said, “Pardon me, mister, but I’m very shy and just want someone to talk to.” He stuck out his hand and said, “My name is Harrison, what’s yours?”

Well, I was caught off balance. He wasn’t staggering. His breath didn’t smell like a half gallon of cheap wine and cheaper cheese! Then, as if to put me at ease, he explained to me that he was not a bum or a street person. He told me that he’d been sleeping in various wooded areas in our county for eleven years, but mostly by choice. I learned that he worked every day there was work available through a hiring hall. He liked to pay his own way and never asked anybody for anything. I further learned that he never stood on street corners with crude signs soliciting “money for work”. On closer observation, I saw that his clothes, while well-worn, were clean. He explained that he had a couple of places available to him where he could take a shower and wash his clothes.

He’d served two tours of duty in Viet Nam. His right hand was still healing from an injury that occurred nearly a year ago. This injury made it difficult for him to get a regular, full time job.

By now, I was feeling pretty bad about my judgmental ways. He wasn’t anything like I’d figure he was. I had some cookies in Tonka 02 that were destined for one of my best friends, Oscar, a 103 year old man whom I visit several times a week. I offered them to Harrison, but he turned them down. He explained that he’d just finished two Whoppers (on sale at the Burger King down the street) and didn’t have room for any more food. He added, “besides, I like to make my own way and don’t like to accept charity.”

I guess the statement he made that really blew me away was this: “Jerry, I belong to Jesus. Do you?” Now, folks, I worked at the Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago for a year, two nights a week, while attending Moody Bible Institute. I’ve dealt with some of Chicago’s finest drunks. I regularly tried to help alcoholic men get their lives right with God and accept Jesus. Not one of them ever asked me if I were a believer!

Well, we’ve met a couple of times since. Tell you the truth, I kinda look forward to meeting Harrison at the park now. I’ve long since repented of my stereotypical sin! I hope and pray that learning this lesson in my dealings with Harrison will spill over into other areas of my life where I might be just a bit too quick to pull the trigger of judgement and zap some poor soul!

Oh, yeah, I, maybe like you, pride myself on NOT lumping similar folks into stereotypical groups. I sincerely and honestly work hard at treating each person I meet as an individual. How did I goof? Just let human nature take over, I guess. Did I learn a lesson through this? Absolutely!

Want to respond? Have something to add? Do questions abound? Maybe you feel the need to confess! (g) In any case, your E-mail will get special attention from PapaJ at “Inside Out”!

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