The Choice Was His
There stood that tall gumball machine
With those colorful round bubblegum balls
With the clear glass pedestal encasing circular rings
So you can watch the gumball fall
In his eight-year-old little hands
He held the magic that could make a gumball his
That round, ridged, silver coin
Twenty-five cents to bubblegum bliss
But on the counter beside the gumball machine
Sat a circular can with a slot on top
With a picture of a sad little girl and bald boy
From UNICEF which made him stop
He looked at the gumball machine
He looked at the coin in his hand
He looked at the picture of those kids his age
Trying to understand
As we walked out of the door to the store
He said, “Dad, I don’t really like gum any way
I hope you don’t care that I took your change
And to some other kids gave it away”
I smiled the rest of the day
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