Rich Man Humiliates Boy Shining Shoes in Underpass

“My dog could do a better job with his tongue!” A wealthy man sneered at a poor boy shining shoes in an underpass and refused to pay. But the next day, fate would reunite them in a way neither expected.

In the dimly lit underpass, the constant hum of footsteps echoed around 14-year-old Martin, who sat quietly by the wall with his shoe-shining kit spread out in front of him. His eyes scanned each pair of shoes that passed, hoping for a customer.

“Just a few today,” he whispered to himself, “just a handful.”

The day wore on, and Martin’s stomach growled in protest. His meager breakfast of two bread slices felt like a distant memory. He took a small sip of water, trying to calm his hunger.

“You can do this, Martin. For Mom and Josephine,” he murmured, reminding himself of why he was here.

Martin’s mother was paralyzed, and his little sister, Josephine, was waiting for him at home. Their survival depended on what he could earn. He forced a smile, ready to face whatever the day would bring.

“Shoe shine, sir? Ma’am?” Martin called out, but his voice was barely audible above the noise of the underpass.

Hours passed, and not a single customer stopped. His spirits were sinking, but he refused to give up. Just as he reached into his worn leather bag for the small orange that was to be his lunch, a pair of scuffed brown leather shoes dropped heavily in front of him.

“Hurry up, kid. Clean these, I’m in a rush,” a gruff voice ordered.

Martin’s heart raced as he looked up. The man standing before him was sharply dressed, exuding wealth. This could be his chance to make good money.

“Yes, sir! Right away!” Martin set aside his orange and reached for his supplies, eager to do his best.

As Martin worked, the man’s impatience grew. “What’s taking so long? I don’t have all day!”

Martin’s hands shook, but he kept his focus, determined to give the man the best shine possible. “Just about done, sir. It’ll look great, I promise.”

The man scoffed. “At your age, I was already earning more than my father. I wasn’t out here shining shoes like some beggar.”

The words hit Martin hard. It had been three years since his father died in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, leaving their family in pieces. The memory of that night haunted him still—the screech of tires, the crash, and the heart-wrenching news. After his father passed, Martin’s mother had a stroke, leaving her paralyzed. At just eleven years old, Martin had become the provider, stepping into his father’s shoes as a shoe-shiner.

But he couldn’t dwell on the past now. He had to finish his job.

The man inspected his shoe and sneered. “This? My dog could do a better job with his tongue!”

Martin’s face flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. Let me try again—”

“Forget it,” the man snapped, pulling out his phone. “Yeah, Sylvester here. Reschedule the meeting to four. I’m going to be late because of this useless kid.”

As Sylvester barked into his phone, Martin’s thoughts drifted to his father, who had taught him the craft. “It’s not just about the shine, son. It’s about dignity. Treat every shoe like it’s the most important one you’ll ever shine.”

“Hey! Are you even listening?” Sylvester’s voice cut through his reverie. “What, your father too lazy to work, sending you out here like this?”

Martin’s throat tightened. “My father passed away, sir.”

Sylvester narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I see. So your mom’s probably off with someone else, popping out more kids to send begging, huh? You people always find a way to be useless.”

Martin’s fists clenched, but he held his composure. “That’ll be $7, sir.”

“Seven dollars? For this terrible shine? I don’t think so, kid.”

Before Martin could say another word, Sylvester grabbed his shoes and stormed off without paying, leaving Martin standing there, crushed.

“Wait, please! I need that money!” Martin called out, but Sylvester was already driving away, leaving him in a cloud of dust and disappointment.

Martin slumped against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Looking up at the sky, he whispered, “I’m trying, Dad. I’m really trying.”

The memory of his father’s last words echoed in his mind: “Never give up, son. Each bump in the road brings you closer to your dreams.”

Wiping his tears, Martin sat back down. There was no time for self-pity. He had to keep going.

The next morning, Martin returned to his usual spot. Suddenly, a woman’s frantic cry pierced the air. “Help! Someone help!”

Martin rushed toward the commotion and recognized the man inside the fancy car. It was Sylvester, the same man who had insulted him.

“He’s choking on an apple!” someone shouted. “The car doors are locked!”

Without hesitation, Martin grabbed a rock, smashed the car window, and pulled Sylvester from the vehicle. With all his strength, he delivered several sharp blows to Sylvester’s back. After a few moments, a piece of apple flew from Sylvester’s mouth, and he gasped for air.

“You… you saved me,” Sylvester wheezed, looking at Martin in shock.

Martin helped him to his feet, his hands trembling. “Are you alright, sir?”

Sylvester nodded, still catching his breath. “I can’t believe it. After how I treated you yesterday… why did you help me?”

Martin shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”

Tears welled up in Sylvester’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, kid. I was awful to you. Please, let me make it up to you. Name your price—anything.”

Martin thought for a moment, then said, “Just the $7 from yesterday. That’s all I want.”

Sylvester stared at him, stunned. “But I can give you so much more. A fresh start, maybe?”

Martin shook his head. “I don’t need a new start, sir. I just need to take care of my family.”

Sylvester handed over the money, watching Martin with a look of deep respect. “You’re something special, kid. What’s your name?”

“Martin, sir.”

Sylvester nodded. “Martin… I won’t forget you.”

The next morning, Martin was woken by his sister’s excited screams. “Marty! Marty, come quick!”

He rushed outside, where his mother sat in her wheelchair, confusion etched on her face. At their doorstep was a white bag bulging with cash and a note.

With shaking hands, Martin opened the note and read aloud:

“Thank you seems too small for what you did. I know you’d refuse this, but you deserve a happy childhood. It took me just an hour to find your address—the world’s a small place, isn’t it? I hope we meet again someday, and I hope you never lose that heart of gold.

— Sylvester.”

Tears of joy and disbelief filled Martin’s eyes. His sister jumped with excitement, and their mother stared in shock at the pile of money before them.

This money could change everything: his mother’s treatment, Josephine’s education, their entire future. But Martin hesitated. Was it right to accept it?

He quietly walked over to the small altar in their cottage, lit a candle, and whispered, “Dad, help me make the right choice.”

With a deep breath, Martin made his decision. He would accept the money—not for himself, but for his family. He would always remember his father’s lessons, and the kindness that can exist, even in those we least expect.

“Josephine!” he called, his voice filled with emotion. “Go tell Mom we’re going to the doctor today. And then… maybe we’ll stop for ice cream on the way home.”

As his sister squealed with delight, Martin smiled up at the sky. He had remembered—and in doing so, he had found a way forward.