I didn’t think much about life’s big lessons until Kathy showed up. Three months ago, she swept me off my feet, and a month later, I put a ring on her finger. People said I was rushing, but we just fit—same taste in books, same thrill for skiing, same dreams. Now I was flying to meet her folks, and I was a wreck. Kathy had told me her dad, David, was a hard nut to crack but had a soft spot for her. I couldn’t mess this up. I got to the airport early, too antsy to sit still, so I popped into a coffee shop across the street. The warm vibe and coffee smell eased me a bit. Then I noticed a guy in beat-up clothes, quietly asking folks for change. Most ignored him, but he came to me, asking if I could spare some for a coffee. I wasn’t sure at first—trust is tricky—but he seemed real, not pushy.
“What kind do you want?” I asked. “Jamaican Blue Mountain,” he said, almost embarrassed. It was the priciest one, and I raised an eyebrow. “Why that?” “It’s my birthday,” he answered. “Always wanted to taste it.” I could’ve doubted him, but I didn’t. I got him the coffee and a piece of cake—birthdays need celebrating. “Sit with me,” I said, and he did. His name was David, and he shared how life had chewed him up—lost family, lost work, lost hope. He didn’t whine, just told it straight, and it got to me. I gave him $100 as I left, brushing off his protests. “Happy birthday,” I said, thinking that was that. Hours later, in first class—Kathy’s idea of a treat—I was sipping coffee, still nervous about her dad, when someone sat beside me. It was him, but cleaned up, in a suit, grinning. “Surprised?” he asked. I was floored. “What’s this?” “A test,” he said. “I’m David, Kathy’s father.”
He’d faked being homeless to see how I’d treat a stranger. I’d passed, he said, but there was a catch—he gave me a notebook. “Write why you love Kathy, why you’ll marry her, how you’ll protect her.” My hands shook, but I wrote—about her smile, her strength, my promises. He read it, nodded, and said, “You’re family now.” At their house, dinner was stiff—her mom was sweet, but David’s quiet stares kept me on edge. Finally, he said, “You’ve proven yourself, Jimmy. You’ve got my okay.” Kathy whispered she’d known I’d win him over. Later, I found a receipt—my $100 went to the café staff, not him. Kathy laughed. “I set it up with Dad,” she said. “We wanted to see your heart.” I learned then that this family wasn’t just welcoming me—they were showing me what matters most.
