Personal Narrative: Jimmy Boy

I once lived an American Dream in Midwest America through the vision of a perfect stranger who went on to become my soul friend. He used to live in a tiny town called Perham in Minnesota. The town had a population of only 1,000 people at that time (this was in 1990). He was a typical American jock. He used to love everything his country could offer a rowdy all American white boy: blonde women, fast food, fast cars, American football, beer, and the chance to pick up fights at college fraternity parties. He was full of American capitalism. His name was James Scott Morris. I fondly called him, Jimmy boy.

I met with Jimmy boy by chance at the college gym. I was trying to become an American hunk. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t succeed.
With time, I built a strong bond with Jimmy boy. Slowly, Jimmy boy began to realize that there is a world away from his which was quite different; quite the ‘other’ from the one he was so used to. A world that didn’t live in Wall Street executive boardrooms, but rather on the streets of hell; a world that was quite not his American suburban dream, but that lived in cardboard boxes near shopping plazas. Jimmy boy began to explore the depravity of this world and shredded his all American image to embrace the bleeding world of poverty, hunger and marginalization. Suddenly, Jimmy boy was a transformed man. He felt, looked and acted more like a human God. No longer was he consumed by the American Dream; no longer was he fascinated by money; no longer was he drunk with the idea of owning a mansion; and no longer did he want to remain ‘American’, i.e. be oblivious to the world that stretched beyond his comfort zone. Suddenly, He began to feel quite strongly for everyone and everything that was not his: scarcity, impoverishment and people who live at society’s edges.

Jimmy boy slowly became the teacher and I the pupil. Sadly enough, Jimmy boy died a tragic and untimely death. Even though Jimmy boy is no longer with us, his divine thoughts made me ultimately abandon my own ‘American Dream’ and return to my country with a purpose of working for the poor. I am yet to fulfill my ambition (rather his dream), but yes I can say with some comfort that I have done quite a bit since the time I left the