Missed Opportunities

This week in class I did an activity where students used black and white pictures to write "small moments." I thought I'd share what I wrote alongside of them -- I don't often write fiction, but I find it, like all writing, reflects a lot of what is going on in my own heart. The photo shown here is what I based my writing off and is from the collection, "Every Picture Tells a Story," produced by Youth Specialties. (By the way, this is a great resource for any teacher of writing!)

Missed Opportunities



His eyes were blazing brown — there was a still a fire beneath the surface, even if most people saw nothing, avoiding his gaze altogether.


He was lying on my front stoop when I went to leave the apartment in the morning. It was Saturday and I was going out for a run before my day of errands began — I had plans to have a house full of friends over later that night, and I had groceries to buy, and food to cook.

He jumped up when I opened the door, and started smoothing down his greasy hair and rubbing the dust off his worn jacket. I wondered when was the last time he showered — from the smell, I guessed it had been awhile.

I wanted to say something — do something — but my spoiled brain reasoned me out of it. He probably would be offended by an offer to help, I told myself.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as he gave me a quick glance while gathering up the rags that served as his makeshift shelter.

"No problem," I said, mostly to myself, as I watched him shuffle away.

I once heard sin defined as a "missed opportunity," and as I started down the street in my $150 Nikes, I couldn't help but think that, at first glance, he'd be branded as the sinner — but it was I that had earned that title.