One snowy December, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute Christmas shopping done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the Christmas season just then. It was dark, cold and wet in the parking lot as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy.

I noticed that I was missing a receipt that I would probably need later on, so muttering under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance.

As I was searching the wet pavement for the missing receipt, I heard a quiet sobbing nearby. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy, who I guessed was about 12 years old. He was short and thin, and had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged flannel shirt to protect him from the cold winter night's chill.

Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand.

Thinking that he had gotten separated from his parents and was lost, I asked him what was wrong. He told me his sad story he said that he came from a large family of three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was 9 years old. His mother was poorly educated and worked 2 full time jobs, from which she made very little to support the family.

Nevertheless, she had skimped and saved $200 to buy Christmas gifts for her children. The young boy had been dropped off by his mother on the way to her second job, given the money and told to buy presents for the kids and save just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall, however, when an older boy grabbed one of the $100 bills and disappeared into the night.

Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.
"I did." said the boy.
"And no one came to help you?" I wondered.
The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head.
"How loud did you scream?" I inquired. The soft spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered,
"Help me!"

I realized that absolutely no one could have heard this poor boy's cry for help.

So I grabbed the other $100 and ran to my car.