“Even my dog could do better with his tongue!” the wealthy man sneered, refusing to pay the poor young boy shining shoes in the underpass. But fate had a twist in store when they met again the next day under very different circumstances.
In the crowded underground passage, 14-year-old Martin waited with his humble shoeshine kit spread out beside him. He scanned each passing foot, silently hoping someone would stop for a shine. A scuffed shoe here, a muddy sole there—any customer would do.
“Just a handful,” he murmured, “just enough to take home today.”
His stomach growled, his meager breakfast of two slices of bread long since forgotten. He took a sip from his water bottle, hoping to stave off the gnawing hunger. Thoughts of his mother and little sister gave him the courage to continue—his paralyzed mother depended on him, and his sister, Josephine, deserved a childhood better than his own.
“Shoe shine, sir? Ma’am?” he called, voice barely audible above the noise of the crowd. Hours passed, and no one stopped. Finally, as the sun began to dip, he took out a small orange, his only lunch.
Just as he started peeling it, a pair of leather shoes dropped heavily in front of him.
“Get to it, kid,” a gruff voice barked. “I don’t have all day.”
Martin looked up at the man, a figure dressed head-to-toe in expensive clothes. His heart leaped—this could mean a good tip.
“Yes, sir,” he said, setting aside his orange, eager to make a lasting impression. But the man, named Sylvester, grew impatient almost instantly.
“What’s taking so long? Are you incompetent?” he snapped.
Martin focused, hands trembling slightly as he worked to bring out a brilliant shine. But Sylvester’s barrage continued. “At your age, I was already doing real work—not begging for change on the street.”
The words hit Martin hard. Just three years before, his father had been killed in a car accident, and shortly after, his mother suffered a stroke. At just eleven years old, Martin had become the breadwinner, his childhood traded for a daily grind.
As he reached the final strokes, Sylvester scoffed, inspecting his shoes with disdain. “My dog could’ve done a better job with his tongue!”
Embarrassed, Martin stammered, “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll do better next time.”
“Forget it,” Sylvester said dismissively, as he walked off without paying, leaving Martin disheartened and empty-handed.
The next day, Martin was back at his post. His father’s words echoed in his mind, reminding him to keep going: “Each bump is just a step on the way to your dreams.”
A sudden shout jolted him from his thoughts. “Help! Someone help!”
He rushed toward the commotion, spotting a crowd gathering around a luxury car. Inside, he saw Sylvester, frantically clutching his throat, choking.
Without a second thought, Martin grabbed a rock, smashed the window, and unlocked the door. He dragged Sylvester out and gave him a firm slap on the back until a piece of apple dislodged from his throat.
Sylvester gasped, looking up at Martin with wide eyes. “You… you saved me,” he stammered. “After the way I treated you?”
Martin shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”
Sylvester, deeply moved, reached into his pocket. “Please, let me make it up to you. Name your price—anything.”
“All I need is the $7 from yesterday,” Martin replied simply.
Sylvester blinked in disbelief. “But I could do so much more—give you a new start, maybe?”
Martin shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but I just need to care for my family.”
Sylvester nodded, handing over the money with newfound respect in his eyes. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, “I won’t forget this… or you.”
That night, Martin awoke to his sister’s excited shouts. He rushed outside to find a bulging bag of cash and a note on the doorstep:
“Thank you isn’t enough for what you did. I know you’d refuse this, but you deserve a happy childhood. The world’s a small place—may our paths cross again.”
Tears filled Martin’s eyes as he clutched the note to his chest. For the first time in years, he felt hope—not just for himself but for his family’s future. His father’s words lingered: to never give up, to keep moving forward, no matter the struggles.
“Josephine!” he called, “Tell Mom we’re going to the doctor today. And then, we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home.”
As Josephine danced with joy, Martin smiled up at the sky. His father’s lessons would guide him always, and he knew he’d continue to shine—one step at a time.
