The Singing Man ... A Christmas Story
The Singing Man A Christmas Story He was already sitting in front of the post office when we pulled into the parking lot. All I could see was his head and a large piece of plastic draped over his body. Who was this person, and why was he sitting there? Was he going to ask us for money? I was a bit nervous about taking Ian into the post office, and I didn't really need a distraction on my way in. I briefly considered coming back later, another day even, then decided to take my chances. We just needed to mail a small package and purchase some stamps. That shouldn’t be too hard. I prayed that the line would be short but knew that the chances of that on this December day were pretty slim. Ian and I got out of the car and began to walk, Ian holding firmly onto my right arm with both hands, his version of sighted guide*. Passing the flagpole, I began to hear the sounds of the man's ac...