Once upon a time

Walking towards Pier 39 in San Francisco I see a young man who I happen to know and whose entire body is painted gold. He is very handsome and well built. He is also very sweet and kind and good hearted. I know the paint causes him a fair amount of discomfort. I also know he is paid a great deal to wear it and perform and he desperately needs the money.

Because I know him and care very much about him, I never miss a chance to see his show, even knowing the discomfort it causes. I do make sure he gets a little extra when I can, just because I know he needs this money.

It appears we all come out ahead, but I am also conflicted.

Am I enjoying his suffering? Do I encourage him to continue suffering by paying to see him like this? What kind of person am I who can care for and love this person and still do this?

I honestly don’t know. He knows I watch. He is the one who told me about his show and I cannot even come close to giving him the kind of money he makes doing it. The man he works for is very kind, but he pays him for doing the job and unless he does it, he does not get the money.

I know as long as he does the show, I will watch. I also know that watching him still gives me great pleasure in spite of anything else. Whatever this makes me -- I am.