The Poor Boy

I feel terrible! I did something I am not proud of. I did something so middleclass. I have become cold and insensitive to the lot of the poor.
Maybe this is because I am bombarded by it on a daily basis. Or maybe I saw myself in the eyes of the child who asked me for a R1 at the Bellville train station. Maybe it is because that was me growing up: begging for 20c and 50c, so I could also buy me the things other children were eating.
Later when I saw that child crying and his mother reprimanded him for that - I prayed to God that, that it must never be my child one day.
And even though my heart softened and I wanted to give him the money, I still did not. I rather soothed my conscience like a typical middleclass would: do not give a person a fish rather teaches him how to fish. Bullshit!!!
That simple middleclass bullshit allowed me to walk away, and to push the incident to the back of my mind. But as I was taking a shower tonight it came back to haunt me and taunt me. It was telling me that I am no different then the people I despise - the middleclass.
It was then I realised I have become middleclass.
Jacob the poor boy who used to walk barefoot to school in the middle of winter has finally made it to the cold and sanitized middleclass.
Jacob the boy whose mother was and still is a domestic worker, and who was raised by farm workers can finally afford and own the movies he used to sell his dignity for at the neighbours' house.
Jacob the boy who begged for money can finally treat another poor boy the way he was treated.
He walk away but not before the child imprinted a lasting image on his conscience that will keep returning as a reminder of what he has become.