Homelessness

This is a different childhood

/ Shane / Leave a comment

Evie has been doing a lot of writing lately. They say a writer writes what they know…

2013_02_13_9656

I’m Poor. Please Help. 2 Dollars Every Day.

I think a lot about the kids growing up in Chicago, and what a different life they’re going to have. We see a lot of “picnickers” (as we like to call them) in our neighborhood. Homeless people and panhandlers are just part of Evie’s surroundings. Normal.

On the way to Evie’s school, we go under a highway overpass. Beyond the fence is what can only be described as a homeless shanty town. There are mattresses and semi-permanent structures, even a grill. In the limited time that we spend at that intersection a few times a week, we’ve seen a lot of activity. Homeless people climbing in and out through gaps in the fence. The one homeless guy who sits on the corner every morning and takes in tons of cash, food, and cigarettes. Seriously, we sit at that light for a few minutes, max, and in that time he probably takes in at least $20, every day. When he gets food he puts it in a community pile for other homeless guys to pick through. One time we even saw the members of the community furiously shoving mattresses out under the fence on one side as the police were coming in on a raid from the other side.

Evie hasn’t asked me many questions about all this, considering. However, I know it weighs heavily on her mind. Obviously, given the picture. I don’t really know what I’d say to her. “Be compassionate about your fellow man, but ignore these ones and don’t make eye contact.” How do you explain that? I’m not even sure how I feel about it myself.

So, long story short, if you see Evie panhandling on the street, please help her out. No reason we can’t put her learned skills to good use.

Welcome to the World, Sweetheart

/ Shane / 1 Comment

Ah, that magical moment in every little girl’s life, when she first sees a naked homeless man.

We had only recently arrived at a park we don’t normally go to, when Evie insisted that she needed to go to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you go before we left?” I asked. “Because I didn’t have to go then!” replied every child since the dawn of time. Luckily(?), there was a small stone building of the kind that can only mean ‘Outdoor Public Bathroom that is Semi-Occasionally Cleaned’, so I started in that direction, daughter in tow.

As we got closer, I heard the distinctive noise of a shower. “Hmm, that’s kind of weird, they have showers in the park bathroom?” I thought. In retrospect, this was probably ridiculous, but the bathrooms reminded me of nothing so much as the bathrooms at a campground or state park, which do often have showers. So my brain failed to send up the proper warning flags. “Hmm, that’s kind of weird, there’s shoes and socks in the open doorway?” I wondered. But we find all kinds of clothes all over the place all the time in our neighborhood, so that didn’t jump out at me either. There was a bright pink girls shirt that sat in our parking lot for two weeks until I threw it in the dumpster. There used to be a power line down the street with an entire collection of shoes hanging on it. So again my brain failed to send up the proper warning flags.

“Hmm, that’s kind of weird, there’s a naked man standing in the bathroom even though there is clearly no shower in here, and the door which leads outside to the public park is standing wide open where anybody could walk by or even walk right in holding the hand of a 4 year old girl.”

To give him credit, he seemed more surprised and embarrassed than we did. I find that odd. I mean, if I were taking a shower in the sink completely naked in a public bathroom with the door open, I would probably be nervous and jumpy, expecting someone to walk in at any minute. On the other hand, maybe the people who frequent this park know better than to go into the bathrooms, so maybe he takes a nice relaxing sink-bath every day with no fear of anybody barging in on him. And anyway, I guess I shouldn’t really try to put myself in his mindset, because probably if I were taking a shower in the public bathroom sink, I would probably just remove my shirt or something, and not get completely naked. But that’s just me.

We beat a hasty retreat and found the women’s bathroom instead. Of course this meant I had to wait outside while Evie went in to take her sweet time. You would think this might be the end of the story, but unfortunately the man quickly put on his shorts and then came outside to chat with me, sans shirt.

“I’m really, really sorry about that.”
“Oh, that’s okay, no problem.”
“Well, did she see anything?”
::please tell me I’m not having this conversation::
“No, I think she’s okay.”
“Well, as long as she didn’t see anything.”
::please oh please oh please let this conversation end::
“I think she’s fine.”

I have no idea if she saw anything or not. And I mean really, what’s the worst case scenario? Her life will not be ruined by seeing a naked man. Her mind will not be shattered. Let’s not forget that for the past three quarters of a year there has been a naked boy running around the house every evening, and she’s been able to cope with that.

Suddenly, the man looked at me with deadly seriousness. “If this were football season, I’d have to have words with you.”

Realization dawned on me that I was wearing a Packer’s shirt and ball cap, and this man did not approve. “Evie, please hurry it up in there, I do not want to be knifed by a homeless man!!”, I thought. I mean, look, he probably wouldn’t have knifed me. He was barely wearing any clothes, so he probably didn’t have his homemade shiv on him at the moment. Besides, the Bears/Packers rivalry is just good natured fun, right? It’s not like we’re in Philly. On the other hand, this is a man who was standing naked in a public place. He probably isn’t the last word on proper behavior.

(Side note, I would think that if you had a place to watch the Bears’ games, you would have a place to take a shower, no?)

I found some excuse to dart into the women’s bathroom on the pretense of helping Evie (“What’s that honey, you need help reaching the soap?”), physically speeding her out of the bathroom. I gave him a nod as I dragged Evie by the arm back to the safety of the playground as fast as I could go and still maintain my “oh yeah, I’m totally cool with chatting with half-naked dudes I don’t know (who a very short while ago used to be completely-naked dudes I don’t know) outside of public bathrooms about our favorite sports teams” nonchalance.

This is one of those parenting moments they don’t teach you about in books.

My Homeless Problem

/ Shane / 6 Comments

Homeless people present a problem for me.

On one hand, I feel so bad for them and I really want to help people in need. On the other hand, they see the giant “SUCKER” written on my forehead, and they take advantage of me as much as they can. Consequently, I have to preemptively ignore them and/or be rude to them, so as not to be scammed by them, which makes me feel like an absolutely horrible person.

I could tell stories about homeless people all day long, like the beggar in Italy who followed me for blocks screaming at me in Italian after I gave her some, but not all of my change (hey, they have 1€ and 2€ coins over there!), or the guy who used to accost me on my back porch whenever I was grilling because he “needed money to catch the bus home” (several times a week apparently), or the guy who holds the door open at Dunkin’ Donuts to guilt you into giving him something on the way out (yeah, I can get my own door, thanks), or the guy who gave me directions in my own neighborhood and then tried to get me to give him money for a homeless shelter where “you can get work, but only if you stay overnight and that costs money”, or the lady who tearfully asked Sara for grocery money for her kids and pulled her grocery list out of her cigarette pack (sorry kids, mama’s gotta smoke). But I don’t want to tell you any of those stories. I want to tell you this story instead:

When we were in New Orleans, a homeless guy singled me out of the crowd and started talking to me (I guess he could read that big SUCKER on my forehead).
“I bet I can tell you where you got those shoes.”
“Where I got my shoes?” I asked, trying to remember where I got my shoes.
“I bet I can tell you where you got those shoes!”
“Uh, okay?” I bought them in New York City on vacation. Is there a tag on them or something? How could he know that?
“Well, I don’t know where you bought them, but right now you’ve got them in New Orleans, Louisiana!”

And before I could react, he tossed a big sticky wad of goo on my shoes. I looked down incredulously, but he whipped out a cloth and started polishing my shoes. Continuing to be the biggest idiot on the planet, I thought, “Good, you better clean that crap off my shoe!”

When he was done, he stood up and said, “That will be $20 for the shoe shine.”
“No way, I’m not paying you.”
He raised his voice. “You owe me $20. Are you trying to cheat me?”
At this point, my face got red. I felt angry, but also embarrassed. I didn’t want to cause a scene. In other words, he had me right where he wanted me.
“I’ll give you $10.”
“No way, you owe me $20 for…”
I hardened my voice. “I’ll give you $10.” He knew I meant business.
“Okay,  fine.”

In other words, despite his rudeness and manipulations, I still ended up giving him $10. SUCKER.

Sometimes I even think “maybe I’m being a jerk, maybe a few bad eggs have spoiled begging for everybody”. But the other day, as I was driving by the guy by Evie’s school with the, “Homeless, please help, God bless” sign, I saw him pull a cell phone out of his pocket to check the time (to be fair, he may have been checking to see if he had any texts). I couldn’t help but feel a little cheated there. I’ve never given him money, but in the few minutes I spend sitting at that light twice a week, I’ve seen him get a lot of serious cash.

Lately, Evie’s been asking questions about them: how do they live without a house, where do they sleep, can they get married, etc. She hasn’t yet asked about giving them money or why we don’t help them, but it seems like the next logical question. How can I explain it to her? Am I teaching her not to be compassionate? The thing is, it really does eat me up inside to treat them as less than human, something to be ignored. I want to help people. If only I could separate the scammers from the honest people.

Honestly? I’m not sure any one of them is honest, based on my experiences.