“My dog could do a better job with his tongue!” The insult hit like a punch, and 14-year-old Martin flinched. A wealthy man had just mocked his shoe shining in the dimly lit underpass—and refused to pay. Little did either of them know, fate had plans to bring them together again, and the outcome would surprise them both.
The underground passage echoed with the shuffle of hurried feet. Martin sat against the cold, grimy wall, his tiny shoe-shining kit spread neatly in front of him. Every passing pair of shoes made his heart race with hope.
“Just a handful,” he whispered to himself. “Just a handful today, please.”
His stomach growled angrily. Two small slices of bread from breakfast felt like a memory from another life. He took a small sip from his water bottle, trying to push away the hunger.
“You can do this, Martin,” he muttered. “For Mom and Josephine.”
The thought of his paralyzed mother and little sister waiting at home gave him courage. He plastered on his bravest smile, ready for the day ahead.
“Shoe shine, sir? Ma’am?” His voice barely rose above the clamor of the underpass.
Hours passed. Nobody stopped. Martin’s hope began to fade, but he refused to quit. Finally, as the afternoon sun poured into the entrance of the underpass, he allowed himself a small break. Digging into his worn leather bag, he pulled out a tiny orange—his lunch.
Just as he began peeling it, a heavy thud startled him. A pair of dirty brown leather shoes landed in front of him.
“Hurry up, kid. Clean it. I’m in a rush,” a gruff voice barked.
Martin looked up, heart pounding. The man towering over him screamed wealth from his polished shoes to his tailored suit. Maybe this was his chance for a tip that could help his family.
“Right away, sir!” Martin set aside his orange and grabbed his supplies.
The man’s impatience grew with every stroke. “What’s taking so long? I don’t have all day!”
Martin’s hands shook, but he focused on giving the best shine he could. “Almost done, sir. I promise it’ll look great.”
The man scoffed. “At your age, I was already making more than my father. I wasn’t shining shoes like some beggar.”
The words cut deep. Three years ago, a drunk driver had taken his father’s life. The screeching tires, the sickening crunch, the devastating news—it haunted him still.
Then, just months later, his mother suffered a stroke and was left paralyzed. Eleven-year-old Martin had become the family’s provider, sacrificing his childhood to shine shoes like his father once did.
He pushed the memories aside. His family depended on him. He had a job to finish.
“You call this shining?” The man inspected his shoes. “My dog could do a better job with his tongue!”
Martin’s cheeks burned with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. I can try again—”
“Forget it,” the man snapped, pulling out his phone. “Yeah, Sylvester here. Reschedule the meeting to 4. I’ll be late thanks to this incompetent brat.”
As Sylvester barked into his phone, Martin’s mind drifted to his father’s gentle hands. “It’s not just about the shine, son. It’s about dignity. Treat every shoe like it’s the most important one you’ll ever touch.”
“Hey! Are you even listening?” Sylvester’s sharp voice yanked him back. “What’s your father doing sending you out here like this? Too lazy to work himself, huh?”
Martin’s throat tightened. “My father… he passed away, sir.”
Sylvester’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I see. So your mother’s probably moved on, popping out more kids to send begging, right? Don’t you people have anything better to do?”
Fists clenched, Martin forced a polite smile. “That’s $7, sir.”
“SEVEN DOLLARS?” Sylvester exploded. “For this pathetic excuse of a shine? I don’t think so, kid.”
Before Martin could respond, Sylvester grabbed his shoes and stormed off, leaving him empty-handed and heartbroken.
“Wait!” Martin cried, chasing after him. “Please, sir! I need that money!”
But Sylvester was already speeding away, leaving Martin slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. He stared 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: “Never give up, son. Each bump is a step closer to your dreams. Remember.”
Wiping away his tears, Martin returned to his spot. No time for self-pity. No time for tears.
The next morning, Martin set up his kit with quiet determination. Suddenly, a frantic scream cut through the air.
“Help! Someone help!” a woman shouted.
Martin ran toward the commotion, heart racing. A small crowd had gathered around a fancy car. And there it was—Sylvester.
“He’s choking on an apple!” someone yelled. “The doors are locked!”
Without hesitation, Martin grabbed a rock and smashed the car window. Glass flew everywhere as he reached in to unlock the doors.
“Stand back!” he shouted, yanking Sylvester onto the pavement.
With all his strength, Martin delivered sharp blows to his back. Suddenly, a chunk of apple flew from Sylvester’s mouth, and he gasped for air.
“You… you saved me,” Sylvester wheezed, eyes wide with shock.
Martin helped him up, hands trembling. “Are you okay, sir?”
Sylvester nodded, still catching his breath. “I… I can’t believe it. After how I treated you yesterday… Why did you help me?”
Martin shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”
Tears filled Sylvester’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, kid. I was horrible. Please, let me make it up to you. Name your price. Anything!”
Martin thought for a moment. “Just the $7 from yesterday. That’s all I want.”
Sylvester stared. “But… I could give you so much more. A new start, maybe?”
Martin shook his head. “I don’t need a new start, sir. I just need to take care of my family.”
Reluctantly, Sylvester handed over the money. As the crowd dispersed, he lingered. “You’re quite something, kid. What’s your name?”
“Martin, sir.”
Sylvester nodded slowly. “Martin. I won’t forget this… or you.”
Martin clutched the hard-earned money, looking up at the sky with a small smile. “I remember, Dad,” he whispered.
The next morning, Martin was awakened by his sister’s excited screams.
“Marty! Marty! Come quick!”
He rushed outside to see a white bag bulging with cash on their doorstep and a note. Trembling, he read aloud:
“Thanks is a small word for what you did. I know you’d refuse this. But you deserve a happy childhood. Took me just an hour to find your address. The world’s a small place, isn’t it?! Hope we meet again someday, and I hope you’re just the pure heart of gold you are! — Sylvester”
Tears of joy and shock filled Martin’s eyes. His sister jumped up and down, while his mother peered out in disbelief.
“Martin? What’s going on?” she asked, wheels creaking in the doorway.
This money could change everything—his mother’s treatment, Josephine’s schooling, even their future. But was it right to accept it?
Martin went to the small altar in their cottage, picking up two pieces of paper. On one, he wrote REMEMBER, and on the other, FORGET. Lighting a candle, he whispered, “Dad, help me make the right choice.”
With a deep breath, he picked a folded paper. A small smile appeared when he read the word: REMEMBER.
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 exists even in the hardest hearts.
“Josephine!” he called, his voice full of emotion. “Go tell Mom we’re going to the doctor today. And then… maybe stop for ice cream on the way home. Get Mom a new comfy mattress. And groceries for the whole week!”
Josephine’s delighted squeals filled the air as Martin clutched the note to his chest. He had remembered—and in doing so, he had found a way forward.