Yesterday we headed to Toronto's Harbourfront area to check out a combination Vegetarian-Jazz festival. It was my wife's birthday and it would have been a tragic waste to spend one of the last warm days of the season inside.

We're not vegetarians by any stretch.  I'm a stubborn carnivore; however I'm trying to become more aware of what I'm putting into my body. I found the veggie booths interesting, although my palate requires a major overhaul in order to enjoy most of the protein replacement foods that were offered.  Ugh! hemlock oil... still can't get the taste out.

 But we did enjoy the music portion. I don't like all jazz music, but this was tasteful. Some jazz is over the top. I can't get into a piece that has no melody, and if a solo consists of a player endlessly running through crazy scales to impress the audience, they've lost me.

I was impressed by this band which consisted of young players in their early 20's, very accompliced musicians for their age I thought.  They played interesting jazz renditions of songs by Radiohead and Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Harbourfront is an interesting place. If you ever spend any time in Toronto, its well worth checking out.  Restaurants, pubs, street magician's, bands, booths, a sailing school and of course great shopping all great highlites.  The area draws people from all walks of life. The rich, the not-so-rich, and the unfortunates.

 It was when the family all sat on the green synthetic grass lawn enjoying the music that I first noticed him.  He took off a slightly shabby jacket and spread it out close us.  There was something about him that distracted my attention from the music. 

He looked homeless.  It seemed it may have happened recently.  His ballcap was slightly worn, as were his shoes.  His pants and shirt weren't clean, but not filthy. He looked to be a young man in his early twenties. As he sat watching the band and listening I saw a slight smile cross his face. He was enjoying himself. 

Corn on the cob was available in one of the booths. As the music played people slowly realized this and one by one went to pay $2 to get their own. 

I watched him as he watched others eating their corn. After a time he took scant change from his jeans pocket and sat their counting it out, deliberating with himself.

He got up and for the first time communicated  with anyone around him. 

He asked me, "Could you please watch my jacket for a minute, I'd like to save my spot?"

"Sure, no problem", was my response.

He returned a short time later with his corn and sat back down on his jacket.  His consumption of it seemed beautiful somehow to me. I was surprised at how slowly he ate the rows one by one. There were long paused between bites.  There were times when he seemed to study the cob.  At times he placed the cob on his shirt so he could politely applaud when a song had ended. 

After a long time his "meal" was over.

I wondered at what cost was his meal? What proportion of his "income" had he utilized? 

My soul was  warmed realizing he was able to enjoy the festival,  music and beautiful day along with the rest of us. I also thought about the coming winter months and the challenges faced by those who, either by choice or circumstance live on the streets of our cities.

When the jazz was over everyone slowly dispersed. 

A little later we were entertained by a street magician; my kids giddly after being selected from the crowd to assist.

When the day was over we walked along the waterfront towards our van, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing.

 Teenage girls standing by a park bench yelling, "Take a picture of us with the bum Daddy! Take a picture of us with the homeless guy!"

And there he was, laying down on a bench in the shade not bothering or hurting anyone. The young man from the festival; victimized by heartless young girls for their cruel entertainment.

He sat up, embarassed, staring at the ground. He rose to his feet and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there and wept. 

 I do as I write this....