A holiday story: Dan and the two Zachs

"HEY mister, are you from Iowa?" I looked around and saw a young man crossing the street towards me. I didn't get a chance to answer.

"I used to have a friend in Iowa, in Iowa City. Do you know that place?

"I lost touch with him, though. I lost a lot of other things, too. All I've got now is my skateboard and this." He held up a battered and bulging backpack.

It was a cold December day, right after Christmas. There wasn't any snow yet, but the wind made it clear this was certainly a winter day.

"I'm Tom," I said, holding out my hand. I'm from right here -- Minneapolis. The car's borrowed. Mine's getting fixed."

"I'm Dan, sorry about the car. That sucks.

"I used to live near here in a great old house. Me and two friends found it. It was empty, so we moved in.

"It was great for the summer -- and until the police came. They made us leave.
Actually, we snuck out the back just as they were coming in the front."

"Where are you staying now?" I asked.

"Wherever I can," Dan answered. "You might say that I'm couch surfing. I stay with friends for a week or two. But then I leave.

"I just left the last place I was staying because I overheard the two people living there arguing about how long I could stay. I just picked up my stuff and left. Didn't even say goodbye.

"I called my mom and she said I was welcome to come back home. But Minneapolis is my home now. I don't want to go back."

"Where'd you grow up?" I asked.

"Small town in Wisconsin. Nothing to do there, nobody left but old people."

A gust of cold wind chilled us both. "Say, I'm headed into that coffeeshop," I said. "Come on, I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

He responded with a worried, almost frightened look. "It's okay," I said. "You can check me out with the people inside. I've been coming to this place for years."

We went inside, got our coffee and sat down under a sign which read: "A 4-H member lives here." I looked up -- and sure enough -- the Minnesota State Fair 4-H fan was still there was there, too; I'd put it there five years ago.

"SO WHAT'D you do for Christmas?" I asked.

"I spent the day with a friend's family. It was great. They had a stocking for me and everything."

"Why didn't you stay there for a few days?" I asked

"I didn't want to be a bother, you know, in the way and stuff."

There was a silence between us for a few moments. I didn't know what to say; I guessed Dan didn't either. Around us, I could hear people talking. I heard music playing, too, but I couldn't quite make out the words to the song.

"WHAT are you going to do now?" I asked.

"I wanna to go to San Francisco," Dan said. "I have a friend there who says that jobs are easy to get. And they don't have winters like this."

"Have you ever been to San Francisco?" he asked.

I didn't answer his question right away. I started thinking - thinking about how many times over the past 30 years I'd heard other young people say the same thing right here in this same spot. Including me. Since the 1967 Summer of Love, the draw of San Francisco has been a continuing siren song, calling Midwest youth.

I was also thinking about the young people I've met in San Francisco who were just as lost as this young man. They had gone to California with such great hopes, hopes for a new life and hopes for a fresh start. There was so much they wanted to leave behind. But too many ended up lost again, and this time so far from home.

JOE'S voice brought me back to the present. "Hey, Tom, are you okay? I asked if you'd ever been to San Francisco. You didn't answer me."

"Sorry," I said. It's just that, well...Yes, I've been there," I said. "And, yes, San Francisco is all the things you say and more. But it's not easy to make that move. I don't want to discourage you, but..."

Just then two other young men came up to us. "Hey," Dan interrupted, "it's the Zacks."

"Tom, I'd like you to meet Zack and Zack," he said.

"We've been looking for you, Dan," said one Zack.

"We're here to take you out to dinner," said the other.

"We found this church which has a free dinner tonight," said the first Zack.

"Guess I gotta go," Dan said to me. "Nice talking to you."

"Nice talking to you, too," I said. "Take care." Just then I remembered that I had a telephone calling card in my pocket, a gift for buying some Christmas gift. I took it out and handed it to Dan. "Call your mother," I said. "Let her know how you're doing."

"Thanks," Dan said.

Then he and the two Zacks were off to the church dinner. As I watched the three of them cross the street I realized the song we had been listening to in that coffeeshop was "American Noel" by Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer. It could havebeen an anthem for Dan and the Zachs:

Three wise men
Riding through the cold
Lost on some jolly street
With no warm place to go
They are looking for a manger
Or a sign in the lights
But they're a long way
from Bethlehem tonight