“My dog could do a better job with his tongue!” A wealthy man insults a poor boy shining shoes in an underpass and refuses to pay. But fate brings them face-to-face again the very next day, with a surprising twist neither could have expected.
The underground passage echoed with the shuffle of hurried footsteps. Amidst the hustle, 14-year-old Martin sat quietly by the wall, his shoe-shining kit spread before him. His eyes darted hopefully at each passing shoe, praying for a customer…
A teenage boy sitting in an underpass | Source: Midjourney
“Just a handful,” he whispered to himself. “Just a handful today, please.”
As the day wore on, Martin’s stomach growled in protest. The meager breakfast of two bread slices felt like a distant memory. He reached for his water bottle, taking a small sip to quell the hunger pangs.
“You can do this, Martin,” he told himself. “For Mom and Josephine.”
The thought of his paralyzed mother and little sister waiting at home bolstered his courage. He plastered on his best smile, ready to tackle whatever the day would bring.
A sad boy in an underpass | Source: Midjourney
“Shoe shine, sir? Ma’am?” he called out, his voice barely audible above the din of the underpass.
Hours ticked by, but no one stopped. Martin’s hopes began to dwindle, but he refused to give up. As the afternoon sun beat down, he finally allowed himself a moment of respite. Digging into his worn leather bag, he pulled out a small orange, his lunch for the day.
Just as he began to peel it, a pair of dirty brown leather shoes landed in front of him with a heavy thud.
“Hurry up, kid. Clean it. I’m in a rush,” a gruff voice barked.
A brown leather shoe | Source: Pexels
Martin looked up, his heart racing with excitement and trepidation. The man towering above him exuded wealth from head to toe. This could be his chance for a good tip.
“Right away, sir!” Martin said, setting aside his orange and reaching for his supplies.
As he worked on the brown leather shoes, the man’s impatience grew. “What’s taking so long? I don’t have all day!”
A person brushing a brown shoe | Source: Pexels
Martin’s hands trembled slightly, but he focused on giving his best service. “Almost done, sir. I promise it’ll look great.”
The man scoffed. “At your age, I was already making more than my father. I wasn’t shining shoes like some beggar.”
Those words stung poor Martin. It had been three years since a drunk driver had taken his father’s life, leaving their family shattered. The memory of that fateful night still haunted Martin—the screeching tires, the sickening crunch of metal, and the devastating news that followed.
A grave in a cemetery | Source: Pexels
Just months after losing his father, Martin’s world crumbled further when his mother Mariam suffered a stroke, leaving her paralyzed. At just eleven years old, he had shouldered the burden of a provider, sacrificing his childhood to follow in his late father’s footsteps as a shoe shiner.
The memories threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed them aside. He had a job to finish. He had a family to feed.
“You call this shining?” the man sneered, examining his shoe. “My dog could do a better job with his tongue!”
A wealthy senior man | Source: Freepik
Martin’s cheeks burned with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. I can try again—”
“Forget it,” the man cut him off, pulling out his phone. “Yeah, Sylvester here. Reschedule the meeting to 4. I’ll be late, thanks to this incompetent brat.”
As Sylvester ranted into his phone, Martin’s mind drifted to happier times. He remembered his father’s gentle hands guiding him, teaching him the art of shoe shining.
A distressed teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
“It’s not just about the shine, son,” he’d say. “It’s about dignity. Treat every shoe like it’s the most important one you’ll ever touch.”
“Hey! Are you even listening?” Sylvester’s sharp voice yanked Martin back to reality. “What’s your father doing, sending you out here like this? Too lazy to work himself, huh?”
Martin’s throat tightened. “My father… he passed away, sir.”
Close-up of a sad teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
Sylvester’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. So your mother’s probably moved on with someone else, popping out more kids to send begging, right? Don’t you people have anything better to do?”
Martin’s fists clenched at his sides, but he forced a polite smile. “That’s $7, sir.”
“SEVEN DOLLARS?” Sylvester exploded. “For this pathetic excuse of a shine? I don’t think so, kid.”
Before Martin could react, Sylvester grabbed his shoes and stormed off, leaving Martin empty-handed and heartbroken.
A frustrated senior man | Source: Freepik
“Wait!” he called out, chasing after the man. “Please, sir! I need that money. Please!”
But Sylvester was already in his car, speeding away, leaving poor Martin stranded in a cloud of dust and disappointment.
He slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. He looked up at the sky, imagining his father’s face.
“I’m trying, Dad,” he whispered. “I’m really trying.”
His father’s last words echoed in his mind: “Remember, son. Never give up. Each bump is a step closer to your dreams. Remember.”
A sad boy looking up | Source: Midjourney
Wiping his tears, Martin returned to his spot. There was no time for self-pity. No time for tears.
The next morning, Martin was back at his usual spot, setting up his kit with determination. Suddenly, a commotion nearby caught his attention.
“Help! Someone help!” a woman’s frantic voice pierced the air.
Martin rushed towards the sound, his heart pounding.
A startled senior woman covering her mouth | Source: Freepik
A small crowd had gathered around a fancy car, and to his shock, he recognized the man inside. SYLVESTER. The same entitled man who had insulted him.
“He’s choking on an apple!” someone yelled. “The car doors are locked!”
Without hesitation, Martin grabbed a rock from the roadside and smashed the car window. Glass shattered everywhere as he reached in to unlock the door.
“Stand back!” he shouted, pulling Sylvester out onto the pavement.
A car with a broken window | Source: Pixabay
With all his might, Martin delivered several sharp blows to Sylvester’s back. Suddenly, a chunk of apple flew from Sylvester’s mouth, and he gasped for air.
“You… you saved me,” Sylvester wheezed, looking up at Martin with wide, shocked eyes.
Martin helped him to his feet, his own hands shaking. “Are you okay, sir?”
Sylvester nodded, still catching his breath. “I can’t believe it. After how I treated you yesterday… Why did you help me?”
Martin shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”
A thoughtful senior man holding his glasses | Source: Pexels
Sylvester’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, kid. I was horrible to you. Please, let me make it up to you. Name your price. Anything!”
Martin thought for a moment, then looked up. “Just the $7 from yesterday. That’s all I want.”
Sylvester stared at him in disbelief. “But… I could give you so much more. A new start, maybe?”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t need a new start, sir. I just need to take care of my family.”
Side view of a teenage boy | Source: Midjourney
Reluctantly, Sylvester handed over the money. As the crowd dispersed, he lingered, studying Martin’s face. “You’re quite something, kid. What’s your name?”
“Martin, sir.”
Sylvester nodded slowly. “Martin. I won’t forget this… or you.”
As Sylvester walked away to his car, Martin clutched the hard-earned money in his fist. He looked up at the sky again, a small smile beaming on his face.
“I remember, Dad,” he whispered. “I always do.”
A smiling teenage boy looking up | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Martin was jolted awake by his sister’s excited screams.
“Marty! Marty! Come quick!”
He rushed outside, his mother calling after them in confusion. There, on their doorstep, sat a white bag bulging with cash and a note.
A bag full of cash | Source: Pexels
With trembling hands, Martin read aloud:
“Thanks is a small word for what you did. I know you’d refuse this. But you deserve a happy childhood. Took me just an hour to find your address. The world’s a small place, isn’t it?! Hope we meet again someday, and I hope you’re just the pure heart of gold you are!
— Sylvester.”
Tears of joy and shock filled Martin’s eyes. His sister jumped up and down, and their mother called out from inside, clearly shocked at seeing so much money.
“Martin? What’s going on?” she approached in her wheelchair.
A woman in a wheelchair | Source: Pexels
Martin’s mind raced. This money could change everything: his mother’s treatment, Josephine’s education, and their entire future. But was it right to accept it?
He walked to the small altar in their cottage, grabbing two pieces of paper. On one, he wrote “REMEMBER,” and on the other, “FORGET.” He folded them, shuffling them with his hands.
Lighting a candle before the crucifix, Martin closed his eyes. “Dad,” he whispered, “help me make the right choice.”
A burning wax candle against the backdrop of a cross | Source: Pexels
With a deep breath, he picked up a piece of folded paper and slowly opened it. A small smile lit up his face when he saw the word “REMEMBER.”
In that moment, Martin knew. He would accept the money, not for himself, but for his family. He would remember his father’s lessons, his own struggles, and the kindness that can exist even in the hardest of hearts.
A young boy smiling | Source: Midjourney
“Josephine!” he called out, his voice brewing with emotion. “Go tell Mom we’re going to the doctor today. And then… maybe we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home. Get Mom a new comfy mattress. And lots of groceries for the entire week!”
As Josephine’s delighted squeals filled the air, Martin clutched the note to his chest. He had remembered, and in doing so, he had found a way forward.
Side view of a happy boy | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My daughter didn’t talk to me for a week. I decided to give her a harsh reality check
It all started when my daughter, Jessica, came home from school one day with a gloomy look on her face. As a single mother, I’ve always tried to provide the best for her despite our financial limitations. This time, it wasn’t a new pair of shoes or a trendy outfit she was asking for – it was a $50 Stanley Cup, a branded water mug. Apparently, the girls at her school were obsessed with them, and not having one made her a target for bullying.
I was taken aback. Was it really that big of a deal? Could a simple water cup hold such power over her social life? “Mom, everyone has one,” she pleaded. “They make fun of me because I don’t. I just want to fit in.” My heart ached for her, but the price tag was steep for a water cup, and I couldn’t justify it. I provided her with everything she needed, but a $50 cup seemed excessive and unnecessary.
“No, Jess, we can’t afford that right now,” I said firmly. She stormed off to her room, slamming the door behind her. Days turned into a week, and her cold shoulder only grew colder. The silence was deafening, and the tension in the house was palpable.
The Standoff
Jessica’s attitude didn’t change. She talked to me but always with an undercurrent of anger and entitlement. She was stubborn, and her determination to make me cave was impressive, albeit frustrating. I provided for her needs – food, a clean house, clothes, a roof over her head, and a bed to sleep in. But her silent treatment continued, and I realized I needed to take a stand and teach her a lesson about gratitude and priorities.
So, I made a decision. The next day, Jessica came home from school with her usual cold greeting and went straight to her room. Moments later, I heard a heart-wrenching scream, “NO, NO… MOOOOOOM, MOOOOM PLEASE!”
The Harsh Lesson
I walked into her room to find her looking at an empty space where her bed used to be. “Mom, what did you do? Where is my bed?” she cried out, tears streaming down her face.
I hugged her tightly, tears welling up in my eyes. “Jessica, I love you, and I only want what’s best for you. It’s important to appreciate what you have and not let material things dictate your happiness.”
We moved her bed back into her room together, and the rift between us began to heal. The lesson was learned, and our bond grew stronger as a result. Jessica still faced challenges at school, but she no longer let the pressure of fitting in with material possessions affect her self-worth.
The Resolution
In the end, the experience brought us closer. Jessica learned the value of gratitude and resilience, and I learned the importance of standing firm in my decisions as a parent. The $50 Stanley Cup might have been a symbol of acceptance at school, but the real lesson lay in understanding that true worth isn’t measured by branded possessions.
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