Staszek thanks God that it is not raining and he does not have to look for a place in a dumpster

This is Krzysztof's account, which he described on his public Facebook profile.

The holidays with a homeless man. On the first day of the holidays, I spent some time with someone whose holidays were probably somewhat different from yours. After a longer conversation with him, I completely broke down. When I learned why he was on the street and sleeping in the forest under a tree in the freezing cold. A man who is knowledgeable and can express himself wonderfully. A man who cries when he talks about what happened to him. He did not ask me for anything, not even a penny. However, when I gave him some money, he promised himself that he would buy something to eat with it. And when, a moment later, I brought him a hot dinner, I thought my heart would break watching how eagerly he ate. When I heard his story, I knew that we had no right to look at all of them the same way and call everyone a drunk, a thief or a bum.

I have a request: do not throw away what is left over from the holidays. Put it in a bag and give it to a homeless person. You will find homeless people near hypermarkets, in allotment gardens in abandoned garden sheds, and often by rubbish bins. Please, do not throw it away—give it to them. This is the appeal of our Reader Krzysztof, who tells us the whole story of Staszek.

Meeting Staszek

I was driving through a street in Bolesławiec and, near the health clinic on Staszica Street, I saw a man sitting on the kerb. He had a cart full of collected, damaged clothes. When I looked at his face and saw what was written on it, I could not drive away indifferently.

I approached him. He was cold, physically exhausted and lost. I asked what had happened. He replied that a wheel had come off his cart, that he had been forcibly dragging the cart from the town centre and no longer had the strength to continue. He did not want to leave the things he had collected, because they were all he owned. He was shaking from the cold and exhaustion, but he did not even mention that he needed help.

I took a few złoty from my wallet and gave it to him, saying: “Please, eat something with this and do not spend it on alcohol.” He replied: “God looks down from above and knows that I will spend it on food, so I promise.” I walked a dozen or so metres away from him and turned back.

I asked how long he would be there, so that I could arrange something hot to eat for him. He replied that he would not move from there, that he had no strength, and that he would not leave the cart because other homeless people would take what he had in it.

I bought him a hot dinner and tea. I returned and asked him to eat while it was still warm. He looked at me in a way I will remember for a long time. It was also clear that he needed conversation, so I sat beside him on the kerb by the main road. He ate as if he had not had such a meal in years. I looked first at him, then at the people who kept walking past us in entire families, dressed in beautiful holiday clothes, and no one reacted in any way.

While eating, Staszek asked whether he could address me informally, although I had already been addressing him informally myself. Judging by his age, he could easily have been my father. I introduced myself, and he began to tell me his story.

Staszek's story: a crushed body after a workplace accident

As a young man, I worked hard in Raciborowice at the cement plant, working with railway wagons. I got married. After some time, I found a job at a ceramics factory in Bolesławiec. My wife and I moved and arranged a flat for ourselves in the town. Unfortunately, shortly after turning 30, I had a serious accident at work. The left side of my head was partially crushed, which among other things caused me to lose sight in my left eye. My knee was crushed and my arm torn apart. I also developed post-traumatic epilepsy. From that moment, my problems began.

I received a disability pension for three years and had to appear before the medical panel again. We could not afford to maintain the flat on the money I received from my pension and my wife's salary, so we exchanged it for a smaller one. It turned out that things were even more difficult, because in the second flat everything, including the heating, ran on electricity.

On top of that, exactly on the 25th anniversary of our wedding, an acquaintance caught my wife with her husband, and I found out about everything. I could not cope with it mentally. I told my wife that I did not have money for a divorce, but that I did not want to live with her anymore because she had let me down and humiliated me. I told her that we would live separately. My wife became an alcoholic. She drank for two years, and towards the end, when she no longer had money for wine, she drank denatured alcohol with other drunks wandering around the town. After two years of our separation, she was taken from outside Kaufland in a sack to Śluzowa Street. Times had changed, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to extend the pension; it was mainly given to those who paid a bribe. I did not have any money for that. I had neither the means to support myself nor the flat, and I ended up on the street.

Tears of humiliation ran down the cheeks of a grown man.

We did not verify the story of the accident and Staszek's fate, and it may not be entirely true.

What about Staszek?

I took out some more money and gave it to him so that he would have enough for another meal. I asked whether he needed anything. He looked at me and shyly said: “A jacket would be useful, because this one is already very dirty.” I asked where he lived and how he managed, and whether, if I brought him a jacket, I would be able to find him. He pointed to a small wood behind the buildings and said: “I sleep in that forest.” After a moment he added: “Krzysztof, I am having a beautiful holiday anyway. Look at the weather. It is not freezing, and I thank God that it is not raining and I do not have to look for a place in a dumpster.”

I do not know how long I sat with him, but I became terribly cold and could barely get up from that cold concrete kerb. He had been sitting there much longer. A man in old, dirty rags, with a grey beard and a face whose skin had been damaged by the frost, spoke with me at a very high level. He was knowledgeable and had a good memory for dates and names. I thought then: how many people pass a Staszek like this every day and look at him with contempt, seeing only a drunk in the man?

After three hours, Staszek was still sitting in the same place. During that time, the temperature had already fallen to minus 2 degrees. I wanted to quickly leave the car seats somewhere so that I could help him transport his belongings, but when I returned for the third time, Staszek was no longer there. It had grown dark, and I had no chance of finding him in that forest. I suspect that he had eaten, rested, regained his strength and, continuing to pull the cart, dragged everything into the forest.