When my son mocked a homeless man, I knew words weren’t enough to fix him. I made him swap lives with the man for a week—a tough call to teach him humility. What happened next was a lesson for us all, one I’ll never forget.
After losing my husband, life became a blur of work and chores. I’d come home to cook and clean, all for my 30-year-old son, Eidan, who’s been jobless for two years. “I’m not ready to work, Mom,” he’d say, expecting me to handle everything. “Bills don’t wait,” I’d reply, but he’d brush me off, wanting “peace.” I couldn’t throw him out—he’s my son—but I was tired of carrying the weight alone.
One evening, on our walk, we passed a homeless man, his clothes tattered, holding an empty cup. He quietly asked Eidan for water. Eidan laughed, “What, want a coffee too? Beat it.” The man’s face fell, and I was horrified. “Apologize!” I snapped. Eidan scoffed, calling him a “bum” and walking off. Tears stung my eyes as I watched the man shrink in shame. I couldn’t let this slide.
That night, Eidan’s messy room—dirty socks everywhere—pushed me to my limit. “Clean this up!” I said. He ignored me, scrolling his phone. I’d had enough. I went out to find the homeless man, determined to teach Eidan respect in a way he’d never forget.
The next morning, Eidan walked into the kitchen and froze. The man from last night sat at our table, eating eggs. “Mom, what’s he doing here?” he asked. “This is Stephen,” I said. “You owe him an apology.” Stephen smiled softly, but Eidan fumed. “No way I’m apologizing to him!” I stood firm. “Stephen’s staying. We’re helping him find work. He’s lost his memory and has no home. If you don’t like it, try the shelter nearby.”
Eidan stared, shocked. “You’re kicking me out?” I shook my head. “No, I’m giving you a chance. For seven days, you’ll live like Stephen—work, help, no complaints. Show respect, or you’re out.” Stephen spoke up. “Life humbles you, kid. Respect everyone.” Eidan stormed off, muttering. My heart sank, but I knew this was right.
Eidan left the next day, and I kept busy with Stephen, who helped me garden, expertly tending my plants. “This could be your work,” I said. He shared how he’d lost his memory a year ago, waking up on the streets with no past. The police couldn’t help without ID, and jobs were scarce. I worried I’d been too hard on Eidan, but Stephen said, “He’ll manage.”
During a backyard barbecue, my mother-in-law, Amalia, arrived, furious. “You threw Eidan out?” Then she saw Stephen and gasped. “Stephen?” They knew each other from years back, joking about his past. I searched online and found his daughter’s number. Stephen called, crying as he learned his family was waiting. Amalia scolded me again, but Stephen backed me up. “Eidan needs to grow, Amalia.” She teased him about staying to “fix” Eidan, but he said he’d see his family first, promising to come back.
We ate together, the tension easing, and I felt hope. This wild week was a start, and I believed it would lead to better days. What do you think of my choice? Would you have done the same?
