Cool in most circumstances

Once when I was 18, high on life, I brought a destitute man home to live with my parents and me. I did this unannounced - met him on the street and figured I could solve his problem. Now there's no tradition of this sort of thing in my family, yet my parents made room for the homeless man as though he was an old school friend.

The chap's name was Drago (1). He was rough looking with his name tattooed on the inside of his bottom lip. Showing it was his party trick, something he enjoyed doing often especially in the company of young women. Years earlier he'd been hit by a car leaving him with a withered leg and brain damage (only the part that controls inhibitions). Drago had a tenuous hold on personal hygiene and big chip on his shoulder. The mechanisms of his homelessness were evident.

I don't remember my parents expressing any misgivings about our house-guest during his stay. Drago stayed with us for two weeks, leaving to follow me when I went to house sit for friend (who subsequently came home early, found Drago alone, whittling in his lounge and freaked - but that's another story).

So this is a tribute to my parents - the good sports that they are. My family tends to be very shy, so maybe they wanted to shout GET THAT TRAMP OUT OF OUR KITCHEN! and just didn't - but all the evidence suggests they are decent people who do the right thing when they can. Here they are pictured leaving the house to visit my sister with picklets. Note(2): the house across the road is being raided for drugs.