This evening, after finishing work, I was sitting in my car at the Tallaght Shopping Centre car park, ready to head home. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man approaching. He tapped gently on my window and said, “Excuse me, sir, but can you spare some change for a burger? I’m homeless.”

My instinctive reaction was the one I’ve had many times before—“No, mate, I’m sorry, I’ve no change.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t push. Instead, he gave a small smile and replied, “No problem, sir, and thanks very much. I apologise for asking you. Have a great day.” Then he turned and walked away.

I sat there for a moment, watching him. Something about his tone and his manners stuck with me. He wasn’t aggressive. He wasn’t pleading. Just… tired, and polite. I followed his path with my eyes and saw him heading toward McDonald’s in Tallaght Square.

Part of me still carried the usual skepticism. What if he’s just going to use the money for something else? But then I watched him search the ground outside McDonald’s, as if hoping to find a stray coin or two. That was the moment I knew—he was genuine, and he was hungry.

I drove over, rolled down my window, and said, “Sorry, mate. Sometimes I’m skeptical about giving money to people who say they’re homeless—I worry it’ll go toward drink or drugs. But I can see you’re just looking for a meal. Would it be alright if I bought you that burger instead?”

His face lit up. “Thank you so much,” he said.

I parked, and together we walked into McDonald’s. I asked his name—Nathan. I told him to order whatever he wanted. He asked for a Big Mac Meal. The cashier asked, “Would you like to go large?” Nathan looked at me, hesitating. I smiled and said, “Go ahead, mate. No problem.”

Even then, he had the manners to ask.

When his €6.99 meal was ready, he politely asked the assistant for salt and ketchup. I asked if I could join him, and we sat down together. In just a few minutes of talking, his story unfolded.

Two years ago, Nathan lost his brother. Just over a month ago, his sister took her own life. Now he sleeps rough—behind a school or college—curled in a sleeping bag, with no idea where his next meal will come from.

I asked if I could take his photo, not for praise or recognition, but to show others that not all homeless people are what some assume. They’re not all addicts. They’re not all thieves. Some are simply people who have been dealt heartbreak after heartbreak, and are just trying to survive another day.

It took only twenty minutes of my time and a few euros from my pocket to feed him and have a real conversation. But when I stood to leave, Nathan shook my hand and said, “Thanks so much, Liam, and God bless you.”

Those few words stayed with me.

I know some will roll their eyes and think I’m trying to be a hero. But anyone who knows me knows that’s not true. I just believe in helping one of our own when they need it.

Life can change for any of us, in ways we can’t imagine. Never judge a book by its cover. And maybe—just maybe—this small encounter will make someone think twice the next time they’re asked for help.