“My dog could do better with his tongue!” A rich man insults a poor boy shining shoes in an underpass and refuses to pay. But fate brings them face to face the next day, with a surprising twist neither could have expected…
The underpass echoed with the sound of hurried footsteps. Amidst this commotion, 14-year-old Martin sat quietly by the wall, his shoe-shine kit spread out in front of him. His eyes scanned each passing shoe expectantly, praying there would be a customer…
A teenager sitting in an underpass | Source: Midjourney
“Just a handful,” he whispers to himself. “Just a handful today, please.”
As the day wore on, Martin’s stomach growled in protest. The meager breakfast of two slices of bread seemed like a distant memory. He grabbed his water bottle and took a small sip to stave off his hunger.
“You can do it, Martin,” he told himself. “For Mom and Josephine.”
The thought of his paralyzed mother and little sister waiting for him at home strengthened his courage. He put on his best smile, ready to face whatever the day held.
A sad boy in an underpass | Source: Midjourney
“Shoe shiner, sir? Madam?” he said, his voice barely audible above the din of the underpass.
The hours passed, but no one stopped. Martin’s hopes were beginning to fade, but he refused to give up. As the afternoon sun beat down hard, he finally allowed himself a moment of respite. Rummaging through 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 them up. I’m in a hurry,” barked a gruff voice.
A brown leather shoe | Source: Pexels
Martin looked up, his heart pounding with both excitement and worry. The man towering over him exuded wealth from head to toe. Perhaps this was his chance to receive a good tip.
“Right away, sir!” said Martin, putting aside his orange and grabbing 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 were shaking slightly, but he concentrated on giving his best serve. “It’s almost done, sir. I promise it will be superb.”
The man scoffed. “At your age, I was already earning more than my father. I wasn’t shining shoes like a beggar.”
These 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 screech of tires, the sickening crack of metal, and the devastating news that followed.
A grave in a cemetery | Source: Pexels
Just months after losing his father, Martin’s world collapsed further when his mother, Mariam, suffered a stroke that left her paralyzed. At just eleven years old, he had to take on the burden of being a provider, sacrificing his childhood to follow in his late father’s footsteps as a shoeshine boy.
The memories threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed them back. He had a job to finish. He had a family to support.
“You call that polishing?” the man sneered, examining his shoe. “My dog could do better with his tongue!”
An elderly and wealthy man | Source: Freepik
Martin’s cheeks burned with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. I can try again…”
“Forget it,” he interrupted, pulling out his phone. “Yes, Sylvester speaking. Reschedule the meeting until 4:00 PM, I’ll be late, thanks to that incompetent brat.”
As Sylvestre fumed into his phone, Martin’s mind drifted to happier times. He remembered his father’s gentle hands guiding him, teaching him the art of shining shoes.
A teenager in distress | Source: Midjourney
“It’s not just about shine, son,” he said. “It’s about dignity. Treat every shoe like it’s the most important one you’ve ever touched.”
“Hey! Are you even listening to me?” Sylvester’s sharp voice brought him back to reality. “What’s your father doing, sending you here like this? Too lazy to work himself, huh?”
Martin’s throat tightened. “My father… he’s deceased, sir.”
Close-up of a sad teenager | Source: Midjourney
Sylvester’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. So your mother’s probably gone off with someone else, produced more children she’s sending out to beg, right? Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Martin’s fists clenched at his sides, but he forced a polite smile. “It’s $7, sir.”
“SEVEN DOLLARS?” exploded Sylvester. “For that pathetic excuse of a splinter? I don’t think so, kiddo.”
Before Martin could react, Sylvester grabbed his shoes and stormed off, leaving Martin empty-handed and heartbroken.
A frustrated elderly man | Source: Freepik
“Wait!” he shouted, chasing the man. “Please, sir! I need that money. Please!”
But Sylvester was already in his car, speeding off, 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, my son. Never give up. Every bump is one step closer to your dreams. Remember.”
A sad boy looking up | Source: Midjourney
Wiping away his tears, Martin returned to his seat. There was no time for self-pity. No time for tears.
The next morning, Martin was back at his usual spot, determinedly setting up his kit. Suddenly, a nearby commotion caught his attention.
“Help! Help!” a woman’s frantic voice rang through the air.
Martin rushed toward the noise, his heart pounding.
A scared elderly woman covering her mouth | Source: Freepik
A small crowd had gathered around a luxury car, and to his shock, he recognized the man inside. Sylvester. The very man who had insulted him.
“He’s choking on an apple!” someone shouted. “The car doors are locked!”
Without hesitation, Martin grabbed a rock from the side of the road and smashed the car window. Glass shattered everywhere as he reached out to unlock the door.
“Back up!” he shouted, pulling Sylvester onto the sidewalk.
A car with a broken window | Source: Pixabay
With all his might, Martin gave Sylvester several sharp blows to the back. Suddenly, a piece of apple flew out of Sylvester’s mouth, causing him to catch his breath.
“You… you saved me,” Sylvester breathed, looking at Martin with wide, shocked eyes.
Martin helped him up, his own hands shaking. “Are you okay, sir?”
Sylvester nodded, still catching his breath. “I can’t believe it. After the way I treated you yesterday… Why did you help me?”
Martin shrugged. “It was the best thing to do.”
A thoughtful elderly man holding his glasses | Source: Pexels
Sylvester’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, kiddo. I was horrible to you. Please, let me make it up to you. Give me your price. Whatever you want!”
Martin thinks for a moment, then looks up. “Just the seven dollars from yesterday. That’s all I want.”
Sylvester stared at him incredulously. “But… I could give you much more. A fresh start, perhaps?”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t need a fresh start, sir. I just need to take care of my family.”
Side view of a teenager | Source: Midjourney
Reluctantly, Sylvester handed over the money. As the crowd dispersed, he lingered, studying Martin’s face. “You’re really something, kid. What’s your name?”
“Martin, sir.”
Sylvester nodded slowly. “Martin. I won’t forget this… nor will you.”
As Sylvester walked away to his car, Martin clutched his hard-earned money in his fist. He looked back up at the sky, a small smile beaming across his face.
“I remember, Dad,” he whispered. “I still remember.”
A smiling teenager looking up | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Martin was startled awake by his sister’s excited cries.
“Marty! Marty! Come quickly!”
He rushed outside, his mother calling out to them in confusion. There, on their doorstep, was a white bag filled with cash and a bill.
A bag filled with cash | Source: Pexels
With shaking hands, Martin reads aloud:
“Thank you is a small word for what you’ve done. I know you’d refuse it. But you deserve a happy childhood. It only took me an hour to find your address. It’s a small world, isn’t it? I hope we meet again one day, and that you’ll be the pure heart of gold that 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, visibly shocked to see 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 over to the small altar in their home and grabbed two sheets of paper. On one, he wrote “REMEMBER” and on the other, “FORGET.” He folded them, mixing them with his hands.
Lighting a candle in front of the crucifix, Martin closed his eyes. “Dad,” he whispered, “help me make the right choice.”
A lit wax candle against a background of a cross | Source: Pexels
Taking a deep breath, he picked up a folded piece of paper and slowly opened it. A small smile lit up his face when he saw the word “SOUVENIR.”
At 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 hearts.
A smiling young boy | Source: Midjourney
“Josephine!” he called, his voice breaking 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. Buy Mom a comfortable new mattress. And plenty of groceries for the whole week!”
As Josephine’s delighted cries filled the air, Martin clutched the note to his chest. He had remembered, and in doing so, he had found a way to move forward.
Side view of a happy boy | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story : When my husband upgraded his and his mother’s tickets to first class, leaving me in economy with our children, I turned his flight into a nightmare.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the story. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims regarding the accuracy of events or character portrayals and are not responsible for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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