Fate blessed me with a son… Once, I gave a chance to a homeless boy, and now he’s a college student!
My life shifted on a crisp autumn evening.
I was trudging home after a long day at work. The wind was biting, the city seemed desolate—occasional passerby hurried along, burying their faces in their collars.
As I turned onto my street, a slender figure emerged from the shadows of a building.
In front of me stood a young lad—thin, wearing a light shirt, gripping a knife with trembling hands. I couldn’t tell if it was the chill or fear causing his shakes.
“Give me your wallet,” he rasped in a hoarse voice.
Calmly, I took out my wallet and handed it to him. Then, after a moment’s thought, I took off my coat and offered that to him as well.
He recoiled, eyes wide with surprise.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked.
I smiled:
“Because if you’re in this situation, it means you had no other choice.”
Suddenly, the boy started to cry. Now, in the glow of the streetlight, I saw he was just a child. No older than fifteen, though nearly my height.
I invited him to my home for a warm cup of tea.
He hesitated, unsure if he could trust me. Yet, eventually, he agreed.
I lived alone… but everything changed that night.
The house was warm. I made tea and sat him at the table.
He looked around with unmasked curiosity. His gaze fell upon my bookshelf, and he stopped.
“You have a lot of books,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Have you read them all?”
“Indeed.”
“I’ve never read a book in my life,” he admitted, without shame, just a touch of sadness.
Slowly, he opened up. He shared that he was born into poverty. His mother passed away when he was very young. They wanted to put him in a children’s home, but he ran away.
Since then, he’d been living on the streets, learning to survive, learning to steal.
His father?
At that, he only looked down and said nothing.
I saw him for what he was: just a kid. Abandoned, neglected. Life hadn’t given him any chances, but if no one helped him, he would be lost.
“Stay with me. At least spend tonight in warmth,” I suggested.
The boy eyed me warily but eventually nodded.
I welcomed him as my own son.
I hardly slept that night. Thoughts spun in my mind: what would happen to him? Where would he go tomorrow?
By morning, I was certain I couldn’t let him fend for himself.
“Do you want to try starting over?” I asked over breakfast.
He shrugged.
“What do I have to lose?”
And so he stayed with me.
I helped him get his paperwork in order, got him back into school. It was challenging at first—he hadn’t been to school since the fourth grade—but he was determined. Teachers were skeptical of his potential, but within months, they saw his promise.
I taught him what I knew. Helped with homework. Explained that stealing wasn’t the answer, that with effort, he could achieve much in life.
His thirst for knowledge was insatiable! He read everything he could find. Often, he stayed up late into the night with his books.
I was proud of him.
Today, he’s a college student!
Several years have passed.
Now, Nicholas is a college student. He studies and works, paying his way through university, unwilling to be a burden.
I am confident that he has a bright future ahead. He will find a job, start a family.
He’s no longer that frozen boy holding a knife.
He’s my son.
Yes, officially my name isn’t in his documents, but that doesn’t matter. The most important thing is that when he talks to me, he says:
“Dad…”
And that’s the most precious thing I have.
