Mr. Latimer. Can I call you, Mr. Latimer?
You know what I did yesterday after work? I took a walk through Ventnor Park. It's a nice park, not strictly because of the greenery and hydrangeas but because of the people. That's right the people. Did you know that there's a man there who has been homeless for two months?
His name is Greg, and he, Mr. Latimer, left his wife because she drinks too much. Why does she drink too much? Because her mother has cancer. Why, you may wonder, does her mother have cancer? Her mother has cancer because her husband smoked for twenty five years and died on her, leaving her with the parting, stinking, wretched kiss of second hand death.
Now, why should I care, really? I don't really know any of these people per se, and probably will never will. Greg, will, quite likely, end up in a men's mission and get back on his feet. Perhaps, after her mom goes into a state of remission, Greg's wife will stop drinking and they will get back together. Who knows? It surely is a bleak situation, Mr. Latimer, and it's easy to assume that all is for naught. But I do not.
Mr. Latimer, I don't think you're a terrible person. But you have never met Greg, have you? I can see by the look on your face that you've written all of these people off and that worries me. Where is your ounce of hope, of faith, of humanity? Is it in a red sports car? A trophy girl? No sir, I am not being facetious nor do I mean to be insubordinate.
The world needs you to notice. The world needs you, Mr. Latimer. The world needs your hope, your faith, your humanity. You possess all of these. I know you perhaps better than anyone here. I notice you, sir, and inwards, sir, you carry a "shining" that goes beyond mundane things. Within your heart, right there, sings the song of the world and I alone hear it. We all need to hear it.
Mr. Latimer. This is not about ten minutes here or a half hour there. I struggle choking back tears, but this is about that little voice in your heart, my heart, everyone's heart. It's that little voice that's always whispering "This is what really matters."
Now come on now, we have work to do.