The train station could never quite be considered busy, but the small amount of activity it possessed dwindled as the night progressed. The last train for the night pulled in and a tired man and his son wearily hopped off onto the cement platform. The train exited quickly, hurrying as it pulled away. Even the trains knew that the station wasn’t welcoming at this hour.

       The man and his son walked slowly together, not too eager to get home. It was late and the son was young, but they were together and they were enjoying the moment. It was a rare occasion when they had time alone. The son’s smooth, small hand inhabited his father’s large, calloused one. It was rough and not particularly soft, but it was caring, and it gently led the boy along as he skipped.
       The station was small, and the only one in the area. Never completely full, it was nearly unoccupied now. Not many people would venture out in the cold, only to travel hours and hours in a dilapidated train that smelt of smoke. It was empty and desolate and the wind’s lonesome howl made it seem bleak, but not to the eyes of the man and his son.
As they turned the corner, they looked to see a man and his dog in a heap, in a pile of blankets and plastic bags and random household items that lacked a proper home. A broken white cane, held together with duct tape, leaned against the wall behind them.
       The son tugged on his father’s hand and whispered. “Look, Papa. The man is blind.”
       “Yes, hijo,”  the man’s deep and tired voice responded, if only to subdue his son. The homeless man was asleep, breathing slowly and softly, in unison with his scraggly companion. He shuddered, shivered, and coughed in his sleep, perhaps dreaming about forgotten warmth or a lover from long ago. His wispy gray hair did nothing to protect his red ears from the unforgiving wind.
“Papa, I’m hungry. Let’s go home,” the son said, louder, tugging on his father’s thin sleeve. The father stood slowly, lost in thought. “I’m cold, Papa. Let’s go,” the son implored.
The father waited, pondering something, before removing his coat. He turned to his son. “Wait, hijo.” He walked over to the man in the corner, placing the worn coat around the emaciated shoulders of the homeless man. The father paused, then removed his own sturdy boots and exchanged them with the shabby shoes from the man’s feet. He rose, looked at the stars, and returned to his son. The duo looked back one last time and continued walking.
The son knew to be quiet but his curiosity was obvious. The father smiled and took his son’s hand once more. “It is okay to wonder.”
“Why did you give the man your clothes?” the boy asked. He couldn’t believe that his father would give away his only coat, the money for which he had worked so long and hard. The boots, as well, had required his father to save up his meager earnings.
“Because he was cold. You were cold, too, and so was I. But he was colder.” And the man smiled up at the stars once more. It was freezing and his threadbare shirt failed to protect him from the bitterness of the air.
The little boy watched his breath float up in steam. “But Papa. It is freezing out and we still have long to go.”
“Yes, hijo,” his father explained, “But though I will work hard and get a new coat, he may not ever have that chance. If I did not give him my coat, I would be guilty, and I would never be able to wear that coat again. Though I shiver tonight, I will always feel a little bit warmer on the inside.”
The little boy kicked a stone across the cracked road. “But what will Mama say?”
The man chuckled. The stars really were quite beautiful tonight. “Mama will say that I am a fool.”
“Are you a fool?” the little boy asked.
“No, hijo. I gave up a month’s worth of hard work, but the man will wake up to a nice surprise. I can come home every night to a nice hot meal, but the man may never again. I am cold, but he was colder. I am old, but he is older. I am poor, but he is poorer. Ten years from now, it won’t matter that I had holes in the bottom of my shoes. But it will matter that I had holes in my kindness. Do you understand?”
The man’s son nodded. “I think so. But Mama will still think you are a fool.”
The man’s rough laugh filled the night, and the stars twinkled at the sound. “Mama will still think I am a fool, but the moon knows that I am wise. For I am rich with the pleasure of your company and the beauty of the stars, and I am filled with the warmth of giving.”