Ron the Beard Friend

My commute to work is short. What once was 10 miles each direction is now 3 blocks. This gives me the chance to view my surroundings a bit more. This is how I met Ron. Ron is a beard friend.

Let me explain.

Anyone who has a beard has a connection and obligation to be at least obliging of a fellow beardie’s beard. In other words, you don’t have to like them, but at least give their beard the respect it deserves. Ron has a really nice beard, and our beards got along right away.

He has been on the streets for years. How long, I have yet to find out. He is very upbeat and incredibly appreciative. Our conversations started off with beard compliments and moved to tattoos. He has a small symbol on his left hand and a rose on his forearm. He told me he regrets getting them. He was 17 and in the service. He has a small cup but doesn’t shake it expectantly like some beggars (I find the shaking obnoxious). He sits calmly on an overturned postal service mail crate next to a mail box outside my work. Occasionally when I am going out for lunch I will ask him if he would like anything to eat. He always graciously accepts anything I offer him, saying he will save it for later. He says he often hands out flyers downtown to make a little money. He has a bed somewhere that he has mentioned vaguely. I’ve been seeing Ron on that corner next to my work for about 6 months on and off. I took this photo this afternoon on my way back to work. I hope my beard stays as nice as his when I am his age.

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