My wife, Mary, asked me to guest blog this week. OK, she asked me a couple of weeks ago, but it's taken me this long to sit down at the keyboard and put something together. Mary thinks I'm amusing, and I guess other people do, too. But today, I want to talk about something serious.
Recently, my best friend (after Mary) was robbed. At gunpoint. In his own house. A little background on my friend Sam before I tell you the story. I've known Sam for nearly thirty years. He has been an advertising salesperson, a cable TV executive and a restaurant owner. Now, he's on disability and works as a sports official. Sam's hobby is collecting stories. That means that Sam has to talk to a lot of people. And he does. Sam talks to bus drivers, waitresses and people in line at grocery stores. Sam asks questions of anyone and everyone. His gregarious nature has led Sam into a wide variety of relationships.
His former housemate, and one-time employee, Larry, was deaf. Larry was also an alcoholic and drug addict. Larry's girlfriend was in prison for the two-plus years that he lived with Sam. Since his divorce more than ten years ago, Sam has been involved with a large number of women. Some of these women have had substance abuse problems. Some have been married. At least two were exotic dancers. One was most likely a prostitute.
I have warned Sam that he is living too close to the edge. Before meeting Mary, I spent some time near that edge. I have been worried about Sam for a long time. Concerned that he would get into a dangerous situation and be hurt or even killed. So when Sam told me he had been robbed, I wasn't surprised. The surprise was that it had nothing to do with his reckless lifestyle.
Sam fell asleep while watching TV in his bedroom. He forgot to lock the side door to his house. Around four in the morning, Sam woke up with a gun in his ribs. A young black man, wearing a hoodie and a bandana, asked Sam where the money was. Sam, suddenly awake, told the robber that all the money he had was on the dresser. Sixteen dollars.
The robber didn't believe Sam. He asked again, "Where's the money? Jason told me there was fifteen hundred dollars here." Sam's reply: "I don't know anyone named Jason and I don't have fifteen hundred dollars." The young man looked around Sam's bedroom, and then asked Sam if there was anyone else in the house. Sam told him no. The robber again repeated the information about Jason and the money.
Sam told the gunman he didn't know Jason and that he had no money. Sam told the robber his name and that he didn't know Jason. The young man then said, "I've got the wrong house". He made Sam take the sixteen dollars off the dresser, then get down on the floor and push the money toward him. Next, he told Sam to get undressed, then walked him downstairs and outside onto the deck. That's when he forced Sam to the floor and ran off.
Sam told me it took him quite a while to move back inside. And even longer to get dressed and call the cops. Sam, who has had dozens of wild and crazy people in his house and his life, was frightened by this young black man with a gun. He didn't sleep at home for the next three nights. He tells me he still can't sleep through a whole night.
When Sam told me about the robbery, he finished the story with this comment. "Willy, all I could think about while this was happening was you telling me I was living too dangerously and that you were worried about me getting hurt or killed. Then this happens. I could have been killed because this kid got the wrong house."
Sam wasn't hurt. He's very lucky. So am I. What if Sam had been shot? What if I had been, the two times someone aimed a gun at me. What if the bullet that once narrowly missed me had gotten me instead of the wall of the church I was walking by?
Mary says I worry too much. She's right. All the worry in the world won't change what happens. None of us can control what others do. We can only change our reactions. So, I'm going to try to worry less. And, I'm going to put up bigger house numbers.





















Latest Comments