"right on sista."
The watermane somehow burst in the middle of our street and is flooding the night with chilly waters.
My heart went out to this homeless man who always sleeps on the island being misted nonstop by the burst watermane (main? I dont know). He didn't dare retrieve his bedding and belongings because the police were stationed around the island watching over the mane. I'm not sure why, but it pains me that police are there to allegedly help people but they end up making this poor mans night miserable.
After the police sat for 45 minutes as his belongings soaked they finally put up flares and pickets to keep oncoming traffic aware. I watched as the homeless man sauntered over to his belongings after the police took off and watched as a man helped him carry his stuff to a drier part of the street. I watched as he wrapped his wet blanket in his cardboard boxes and tried to pick out those boxes which weren't drenched and useless to him in this weather.
I felt so bad for him, so pained for him and I wanted to give him something of mine. The problem is I surround myself with sentimental belongings, I considered giving him a blanket my mom bought me when I lived in the dorms--but as some of you know why I can't part with my moms gifts. Someday she'll die and this is all I have of her in a material sense.
I mentioned to Jason that maybe I should make him soup but didn't push it because we share our soup supply. He watched me as I paced around the apartment looking for something to give him. It's so cold here, I wouldn't want to be out there with no one offering any help to keep me warm. I'm sure he didn't ask for his life.
Jason mentioned we don't know if he's one of the trouble making homeless who have been fighting each and every night outside our apartment--the ones keeping me awake, keeping me from good sleep, keeping me from peace, keeping me from staying in my room. I thought this was true, but then I said to him that it isn't about taking care of the nuisances who live on the streets, it doesnt matter if he fights because it is things like his hunger and his cold that make him bitter enough to fight.
I was afraid that tihs homeless man wasn't benevolent, I asked Jason to come down and ask him if he wanted soup.
So we did, I started the water, I was so hesistant as to whether or not he would accept the soup (after all not everyone has a taste for japanese udon soup). So we went and asked and I didn't really know how to go about it, I poked my head out and then back in wondering what I say.
I never can really recall the conversations though..
But he said "I can dig it" in response and I said," It's kind of asian though," in an apologetic way. He said," oh" and paused, gave me a slight bow and said, "thank you."
I remember the man who's a bit on the nutty side who I gave a donut to while he sat on the wet rainy sidewalk begging. I'll remember when he said, "Oh anything would be great." I remember the connection I felt giving him something that wasn't a neccessity in my life.
I remember the large girl and the boy with golden hair and bright blue eyes when I gave them half a burger and leftover fries--it was the first time I realized that giving them my leftovers (if they wanted it) wasn't looking down on them in anyway. They didn't see it as me giving scraps to a dog on a street, the grateful ones anyway, but me giving what I had even though I could have brought it home and let it rot in my fridge. I'll remember the gratitude in their sparkling eyes. I'll remember that they said, "Oh anything is great."
I'll remembre the black man with scars on his face standing in the sweltering sun holding his cap with his big eyes begging like they portray poor begger black boys in movies. I'll remember that the first thing he wanted to buy with the 5 dollars I gave him was just a soda.
I'll remember the old man and the wya he said yes, the fact that he understood my wishes that he'd share it with the man next to him. I'll remember the clicking sound as they opened the box when I was down the block a ways. I'll remember how it changed Jason.
And I will remember this man and the way he took the time to pause, change, and say thank you. His name is Anthony. this is the first actual surname contact I've made with a homeless person and he offered it. It was the first time a homeless person cared enough to know just a little about me. I gave him beef jerky and flavored water, but his teeth were going bad, he said he'd make do. What can you eat when your teeth go bad though? I hope he stays warm, I hope he wasn't a trouble maker on the street and if he was, and even if he was I hope that my kindness can be the beginning to his peace.
I hope no one gives him a hard time with his dinner, I hope that tomorrow is a warm day and he can sun out his belongings.
I can't explain how pained I feel for him.
What if you live in a cold climate? What if all your worldly positions got drenched? Not only are they heavier to carry, they're wet and you have no means of warmth in the night. It's cruel--and I can't believe how many people don't care.
...and he said to me, "right on, sista."
My heart went out to this homeless man who always sleeps on the island being misted nonstop by the burst watermane (main? I dont know). He didn't dare retrieve his bedding and belongings because the police were stationed around the island watching over the mane. I'm not sure why, but it pains me that police are there to allegedly help people but they end up making this poor mans night miserable.
After the police sat for 45 minutes as his belongings soaked they finally put up flares and pickets to keep oncoming traffic aware. I watched as the homeless man sauntered over to his belongings after the police took off and watched as a man helped him carry his stuff to a drier part of the street. I watched as he wrapped his wet blanket in his cardboard boxes and tried to pick out those boxes which weren't drenched and useless to him in this weather.
I felt so bad for him, so pained for him and I wanted to give him something of mine. The problem is I surround myself with sentimental belongings, I considered giving him a blanket my mom bought me when I lived in the dorms--but as some of you know why I can't part with my moms gifts. Someday she'll die and this is all I have of her in a material sense.
I mentioned to Jason that maybe I should make him soup but didn't push it because we share our soup supply. He watched me as I paced around the apartment looking for something to give him. It's so cold here, I wouldn't want to be out there with no one offering any help to keep me warm. I'm sure he didn't ask for his life.
Jason mentioned we don't know if he's one of the trouble making homeless who have been fighting each and every night outside our apartment--the ones keeping me awake, keeping me from good sleep, keeping me from peace, keeping me from staying in my room. I thought this was true, but then I said to him that it isn't about taking care of the nuisances who live on the streets, it doesnt matter if he fights because it is things like his hunger and his cold that make him bitter enough to fight.
I was afraid that tihs homeless man wasn't benevolent, I asked Jason to come down and ask him if he wanted soup.
So we did, I started the water, I was so hesistant as to whether or not he would accept the soup (after all not everyone has a taste for japanese udon soup). So we went and asked and I didn't really know how to go about it, I poked my head out and then back in wondering what I say.
I never can really recall the conversations though..
But he said "I can dig it" in response and I said," It's kind of asian though," in an apologetic way. He said," oh" and paused, gave me a slight bow and said, "thank you."
I remember the man who's a bit on the nutty side who I gave a donut to while he sat on the wet rainy sidewalk begging. I'll remember when he said, "Oh anything would be great." I remember the connection I felt giving him something that wasn't a neccessity in my life.
I remember the large girl and the boy with golden hair and bright blue eyes when I gave them half a burger and leftover fries--it was the first time I realized that giving them my leftovers (if they wanted it) wasn't looking down on them in anyway. They didn't see it as me giving scraps to a dog on a street, the grateful ones anyway, but me giving what I had even though I could have brought it home and let it rot in my fridge. I'll remember the gratitude in their sparkling eyes. I'll remember that they said, "Oh anything is great."
I'll remembre the black man with scars on his face standing in the sweltering sun holding his cap with his big eyes begging like they portray poor begger black boys in movies. I'll remember that the first thing he wanted to buy with the 5 dollars I gave him was just a soda.
I'll remember the old man and the wya he said yes, the fact that he understood my wishes that he'd share it with the man next to him. I'll remember the clicking sound as they opened the box when I was down the block a ways. I'll remember how it changed Jason.
And I will remember this man and the way he took the time to pause, change, and say thank you. His name is Anthony. this is the first actual surname contact I've made with a homeless person and he offered it. It was the first time a homeless person cared enough to know just a little about me. I gave him beef jerky and flavored water, but his teeth were going bad, he said he'd make do. What can you eat when your teeth go bad though? I hope he stays warm, I hope he wasn't a trouble maker on the street and if he was, and even if he was I hope that my kindness can be the beginning to his peace.
I hope no one gives him a hard time with his dinner, I hope that tomorrow is a warm day and he can sun out his belongings.
I can't explain how pained I feel for him.
What if you live in a cold climate? What if all your worldly positions got drenched? Not only are they heavier to carry, they're wet and you have no means of warmth in the night. It's cruel--and I can't believe how many people don't care.
...and he said to me, "right on, sista."