THAT SOMEBODY
By GEORGE MATTHEW ADAMS
There is in the lives of all of us at times—that somebody. That somebody who understands, who steps up and helps without being asked, that somebody who gives the glass of cool, fresh water, who soothes the troubled brow and presses the hand—just knowing, that's all.
That somebody who comes from nowhere seemingly, who wasn't expected, who didn't want to be detected—but how only wanted to be of service.
That somebody who is so fully acquainted with trouble, who has known defeat, who has walked the wine-press of genuine sorrow, that somebody who doesn't parade, who cares not at all for show, but who never hesitates at convention, or anything else if something generous and useful and beautiful may be performed.
That somebody who smiles at disaster, who brushes aside unjust criticism and walks proudly to the place where he feels that he can do a good job and then pass on.
That somebody to whom sleep and rest seem trivial when another cannot sleep and rest, that somebody with the super-human soul who sweetens the world with his breath as a flower with its perfume.
That somebody who is not afraid to soil his hands in toil, that somebody who who would go hungry to feed another, that somebody who doesn't care for display, acclaim or applause.
That somebody who is always looking around that he may find something unique to do at some unexpected moment for someone who needs it most.
You can't do too much for that somebody. You can't be too kind, too gentle, too thoughtful, too generous to that—somebody.
