There's always a story...

Constantino Bustos-Cruz

Constantino was a rough looking short guy who wore a hard helmet with Tino painted on the front. He was an older man, but was probably much younger than he looked. My guess is that he was actually in his sixties. But, the years of living on the streets and such provided obvious wear and tear on his appearance.

With white curly, raggedy hair and a out of control fu manchu goatee, Tino sat in the seat behind me on the light rail.

I had briefly noticed him when he got on the train. So much so, that I sent myself an email with a brief description of what I saw. You see all kinds of people on the train. So many people, so many stories.

I really don't remember how our conversation started. However, I realized very early on that with his broekn english, I was only going to understand every fifth or sixth word he said. But, it was at that thought that I realized that understanding every word he said was not the point.
It was taking the time to look him in the eye, treat him like a normal human being and that he was valued that was the point.

From our conversation, here is what I learned...
1. He is from Mexico City
2. Came to US in 1982
3. His "momma" had three girls and three boys
4. He last visited them in Mexico City in 1995

At one point in our conversation, he showed me a picture of a person whom he said taught him english. He then asked me if I knew any spanish.

"Barely." I replied.

I then launched into the only spanish I knew.. his response to each time I spoke something in spanish was priceless. He had the kind of laugh that made you want to continue to make him laugh.

He would place his two small hands in his face and look down with this high pitched rough sounding laugh. It was good to see Constantino laugh. I hope he laughs often. Not sure how much he has to laugh at.

Que Pasa?
Uno Coca por favor?
Chaufer esta muy loco en mexico!
humiliense enla presenious el senor.

I then told him... that's all I got. and of course... he laughed.

He then told me about getting up every morning at three am to catch max downtown and begin picking up cans and bottles. Tino had an honored citizen max pass giving him unlimited access. Not sure how you get one of those, I thought as he proudly showed me his card.
On money, here is one of his stories about Portland...

Money, it just shows up. Comes from nowhere. Do you know the Coliseum? I was down there and these people would reach into their pockets and money would come flying out. I would go into the bushes and pick up the money. it just shows up and I get the money.
On prescription drugs...

the government... they just keep giving me free pills. I don't know why, I just get more and more and more. (he then does his laugh routine. I laugh with him. people on the train stare.)
At the end of the train ride, I shook Tino's cold, red, and very small hand. I said God bless you and keep the hope.

As the train passed me by, I looked up and saw Tino one last time. He waved goodbye to me like that of a little kid.

Sure, I didn't understand much of our conversation. But, I did understand this... people matter. We cannot and should not judge how people get to be where they are. We are all God's children and creation. Let us not just walk on by and pass up opportunities to make someone's day.

And maybe just maybe, that is why Tino sat behind me. Maybe he wanted to make my day.

Tino... well done. Mission accomplished.