Hey, Man at McDonald's:

What's the story behind all of those hideous homemade tattoos on your forearms?  With your clean shaven head and your non-descript work shirt, I have to assume that you're on your lunch break from some kind of gainful employment.  You ate your food so quickly, you got back in line for your dessert, cleaned up your table and headed out the door.  Your face seemed sweet.  But, your tattoos were scary.  They tell a story.  And, I wonder if it's a story you want told anymore.

The Mother Bear in me wanted you to stop looking at me and my children. But, the Mommy in me wondered if anyone ever let you choose where you wanted to eat lunch when you were four- or six-years old; and if anyone ever made you feel like the king of the world by granting your request to eat inside the McDonald's.

I don't know.  And, you're gone now.  And, I won't lie and say that I didn't check to make sure you weren't lingering anywhere near my car when we left, too.  But, I did say a prayer for you, Man at McDonald's.  You'll never know that.  But, I prayed that, no matter where you've come from, from here on out you'll find happiness, kindness, peace and opportunity.

And, I prayed for myself.  I asked forgiveness because I still judge people for their outward appearance.

I pray that I can be one of the people that show you kindness, Man at McDonald's.