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Tuesday, February 27, 2007

6BB Chico Enterprise-Record

Homeless, poor easily ignored, put at arm's distance

By LAURA COOTSONA

 

“I don't know what to do when I see them.”

“Why doesn't he just get a job?”

“If there is a shelter, why don't they stay there?”

“You know, if we keep giving them so much help, more of them will come here.”

“I didn't realize there were so many of them ... where are they all the time?”

 

Just like other groups in our region, the homeless and the poor are easily ignored and put at arm's distance.

If we choose not to see them, we won't have to interact with them or help them or have them a part of our

life. We don't have to get too close. And it isn't just the homeless. Let's be honest. The rich are that way.

Athletes seem unapproachable. Scholars know too much. Christians are hypocrites. Muslims wear strange

clothes. It almost seems that we try to keep people unlike us far away. Do we have any interest in

understanding them? Or for them to understand us?

 

I am homeless. Some days I want to be roaming free without the struggle of making ends meet. Most days I'm cold. I'm wet. I need a new pair of socks. People walk on the other side of the street when they see me because I make them feel uncomfortable. I keep a dog -- and they wonder how I feed the dog when I can't feed myself. I do it because I want a companion, warmth, a friend. Meet my dog, speak to me, look me in the eye. But no one does. They look at me and see the cup. I don't like the cup but I am disabled and I can't work anymore. I still need money. Besides, when I earn a legitimate wage, my wages go to my first wife. It's a long story ... back 20 years or so. But now I'm in a bind. What am I to do?

 

Yes, I need money. But you rightfully don't give it to me. Sometimes I choose to buy booze or worse. I want to work, but I can't stand up that long. Is there a way you can help? I want to take you up on your offer to interview for a job, but I don't have a shower, or clothes, so waking up at 7 and being there by 7:30 just doesn't work. Is there any way you can help me? This one nice lady keeps telling me to go to the shelter. See, I'm afraid of crowds and that big room just plain doesn't work for me. Picky? Maybe, but I can't do it. I've tried. So, my only other option is under the bridge. I try to get to my appointment to get my medication right, but the doc won't see me because I'm late. It is a long story.

 

I can't begin to tell you how hard it was the first time I came to the Jesus Center. Instead of “welcome” over

the awning, I only saw one word: “Loser.” My dad would've hollered that real loud had he seen me saunter in

through those doors. No, I don't go there because I get the seat by the window. No, I go there because I'm

hungry and they feed me and care about me. When I get a shower, I'm thankful, but it's not my bathroom.

It's not my towel. But I don't have any choice. My friends are done with me. My family has plain disowned

me. No one returns my calls. Where am I to go? Yes, there are a lot of us, but we learn to hide because no

one wants us out and about in plain view. They counted a lot of us the other day, but more of us live in cars

and on couches and move place to place. No one counts us. No one wants to see us, now do they? Isn't it

easier when we're kept invisible?

 

The questions above and the responses below are real voices. The sad truth is that they are merely

monologues. The average person doesn't understand the homeless person's plight. They are never in the

same room. At the same table. Hanging in the same place. So our misconceptions and our inabilities to truly

help one another go on. Our community needs to come together and host a place for all people regardless

of our complexity or our naiveté. There's room enough for all if we take a look and try to see who I am and

who the stranger is. If we learn about one another, our community will no longer be a string of disparate

groups, but an integrated whole that seeks to include everyone regardless of their address or lack thereof.