The Lucky 7

We live in a world were money controls everything. To some men, the accumulation of personal wealth is their sole philosophy. They live and breathe for money as if it were a dire passion. Money transforms good men into capitalistic scrooges. Is it society’s fault that we have created such men? Or is it the individuals fault? The question then becomes, to what extent will these men go with their wealth? Will they spend it all on themselves and nothing on the welfare of others? Or will they share their wealth, so that others may find happiness in this world?

Dear Diary,

I grew up amidst the age of rock and roll, drugs, sex and rebellion surrounded me. As much as I didn’t believe in their philosophies, I had to conform to them in order to “fit in.”   For the most part I did pretty well in school. I wasn’t a straight A student but I tried my hardest. Money was never an issue for me. During high school I got involved with the wrong crowd. After graduating high school I joined the army.  I hoped to get rid of the bad habits, which I had acquired from high school. The army made me into a stronger man and a more decisive thinker.  After serving four tours of active duty, I retired from the army. I then resided in Los Angeles where I would spend the rest of my life. 

After retiring from the army I began to drink. At first I only drank occasionally but I soon became a heavy drinker. I felt that because I served in the army, I was entitled to do whatever I wanted. I felt owed for my service.  Greed consumed me like a black hole, and before I knew it a majority of my money was gone. It was when I started getting in debt that I began to drink even more heavily. I remember blaming the government.  It’s the government’s fault that I am in debt! They owe me for the sacrifices I made! But blaming the government never got me anywhere. This caused a downward spiral that ultimately caused me to become homeless.  I spent months in rehab. During rehab there was an old man, John, who was recovering just like me.  John was unable to stop drinking. I went through a period of withdrawals and I managed to stay sober for two months. While in rehab, they did different tests on my body and told me I had to see a specialist. My appointment was scheduled for May 3, 1975.

…

As much as I regret it, I was once consumed with spending my money. I spent money feverishly until my circumstances began to change. Through these circumstances I began to see life in a different light. Maybe it was because my life was beginning to rapidly change and I had fewer moments to spare. Or perhaps, God had become a major part of my life and because of that I became more generous.  But regardless of the exact circumstances, what I can tell you is that on May 4, 1975 my life changed forever. I became a new man, with a new mission to change the world for the better.

 

I was out for a morning stroll when I ran into a homeless man who was asking for money. I did the best I could to try and avoid him but he called me over.

“Sir, would you mind sparing some change?”

I looked at him with disgust. Who was he too ask me for money?

  I said to him, “Go get a job.”

 As I walked away he said softly “I figured you’d say that. You’ll never change.”

I turned back.  

“Who are you to judge me?”

            He said, “You need to wake up and smell the roses. There is goodness in you. You just haven’t allowed yourself to see it.”

             As I began to walk away I realized that the homeless man I was talking to was John from the clinic. I turned around to go back and speak with him, but he had disappeared. I walked away I began wondering, what did he mean that there was goodness in me? It has always been about me and only me.

            It was May 3, 1975 and I had been called in for a doctor’s appointment.  I remember thinking that there could not be anything wrong with me. I’ll admit that I had a few beers here and there but nothing that could amount to anything.  As the doctor came in his face was blank and emotionless, yet I could sense there was something wrong. His face was wrinkled from age. Every now and then, he would glance down at my file and begin to speak but seemed unable to find the words.

I finally asked the doctor, “Just tell me what’s wrong with me Doctor.”

“Um well you see, you have…”

“Just tell me what’s wrong with me Doc.”

Sweat began pouring from his forehead. He avoided eye contact with me and slowly began to say, “You have…” when a nurse came in and said that they required his assistance in another room. He leaped at this opportunity and was out of the room. A few minutes later a different doctor came in.

“My name is Doctor Westport, and I presume that you are anxious to find out why you were called in today.” 

I nodded.

“You have liver cancer and have six months to live.” 

I sat there in utter disbelief. How could this happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?  The doctor informed me that because of my excessive drinking, I had destroyed my liver.

“It’s not my fault! It’s the government’s fault that I drank! I served to protect my country and what did they give me? Not enough money to live on once I left!”

I left the office in disbelief.  For the next few hours I walked around the city aimlessly. I kept telling myself that this was just a horrible dream and that I’d wake up any moment. However, the day prolonged I still was unable to come to my senses. The last I remember is that I walked into a bar and ordered a drink.

            I woke up the next day hung-over.  The night was a distant memory. I stumbled over to the kitchen and started making breakfast. I turned on the TV to watch the news. As I was fixing cereal for myself, they began announcing last night’s Powerball numbers Like many other times, I had went out the last Sunday and bought a ticket. I had never won anything more than twenty dollars.  According to the news station the winner has not come forward to collect the 5 million dollar jackpot.  On the bottom of the screen they displayed the winning numbers. I casually took a cursory glance at the screen and then returned to eating my breakfast. I took a second glance and all of a sudden I realized that the numbers on the screen seemed oddly familiar. They were the same numbers that I always used for the lottery!

 I began frantically searching through my apartment for my ticket. Clothes were left scattered all over the floor. In the kitchen sink there were piles of dirty plates waiting to be cleaned. They gave off a peculiar scent, like rotten cheese. Beer bottles were scattered everywhere. Many of them had been thrown against the wall, leaving broken glass everywhere. I stumbled over to my desk where there was a heap of papers that were cluttered randomly. I looked through them and found the ticket. I glanced back at the TV to make sure I was not just seeing things and sure enough I had won the lottery!  

Dear Diary,

 I only had six months to live. Six months to make up for all the lost time. Six months to change as a person. Was it enough? Or was I too late? What was it that brought upon this sudden change of heart? Was it because my life on this earth had shortened? Or was it because I genuinely wanted to make a difference in this world?

The next day I went searching for the John. When I first met John I saw him as a failure. I didn’t think that he had anything intelligent to say. When I saw him that day on the street, it didn’t make sense what he had told me. I realized that there are people who are in worse situations than I am in. I felt as if it was my duty to help improve their lives now. I wanted to thank John for helping me to realize that I can change as a person and that I can make a difference in this world.        

 I asked around at the community center but no one seemed to know him. I looked in the surrounding areas of LA but had no luck. Since I couldn’t find him, I decided to start volunteering at the soup kitchen down the street where I last saw him. My hope was that maybe I would somehow run into him but I never saw him again. I wanted to honor John. So I donated some of my money to rebuild the community center and named it after John. I then created a foundation in his name, which sought out to help wounded veterans get training for new jobs.

Towards the end of my life I wondered, what would have happened if I had not won the lottery? Or not gotten sick? Would I have changed or would I have remained the same? I realized that life is about the time you have on this earth and how you choose to live it. It comes down to the opportunities that we are given. We can either choose to make a difference or we can ignore the opportunities completely. John made me realize that I did have goodness in me, and that it was just a matter of time until I would be able to see that.