One Sunday in December, I left home alone to go to St. Peter's Basilica. I wanted to see the Nativity scene by myself. To enter the square, I passed through the metal detector and removed the things that set off the turnstile. Then I saw the Pope saying the Angelus from his window, but that's not why I came. I wanted to see the Nativity scene. That was the reason.
I never go there during the year because I work. The day ends in the evening, and then it starts all over again, five days a week. When I left and headed for the exit, a young man followed me and gave me some bracelets. He said they were free, but when I saw he was giving me three or four, I pulled out my money. Thank goodness I had only a little. Otherwise I would have given him everything I had.
It's not true that I never give money to anyone. The problem is that I generally don't like to use it. Another time I refused and gave nothing. But he kept asking, and I gave in to this forced charity. I thought to myself: I shouldn't be walking around with money, or I'll end up with nothing. This happens pretty often—it makes me feel sorry for people like that. If everyone were like me—rich people becoming poor. It reminds me of Pinocchio with the Cat and the Fox.
The problem comes when they scold me afterward: "What did you do? Where were you this morning?" I don't want to give money. If I had time to go out, I would spend more, or I'd bring a shopping cart with me. But I see these men standing in the same spots, doing humble work—sweeping the stairs—and waiting for people to fill their cardboard boxes with money. This is nothing new in the city. It gets worse during the holidays, when the tourists come. Especially the ones with good hearts!
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