What If You Were Homeless?
A few years ago, I started my first freshman English class. My teacher, the hard ass of the English department, began the class with us saying our names, along with a “funny memory.” This ass wipe, someone I’d gone to school with since I was in first grade, began with talking about his funny memory: the time his dad pretended to hand some money to a homeless man near the 8 Mile junction to Detroit, and then jerked it back when he reached, laughed at him, and drove away. I was so infuriated and disgusted. Some students laughed, and I began a public debate on it. He and I went back and forth, and he said, “If someone’s on the street, they deserve it. Stupid bums. Go get a job.” After a few choice words flying from my freshman mouth, I left the classroom, dismissing myself to the counselors office to switch my class. The student I argued with never got reprimanded, and I landed a better teacher in the trade off. Fast forward to now. I’m on the cusp of 25, and I’m standing in my co-workers cube. He’s up north for the weekend, and someone planted a sign in his cube. We work near gas stations, so chances are this sign was on the corner, and it was picked up and delivered on the way back from one of the techs.
One of the admins had walked me into one of the field guy's cube to show me, thinking it was funny. I stood there, sort of mouth gaped at it, and she’s laughing. I can’t help but feel sad that someone would even have to make a sign like this, if it is even true. Then the other co-worker in the next cube over says, “Yeah, nice sign huh? Pretty funny. What if they came back for the sign? Now he’s poor and they stole his sign.” He chuckles. Now mind you, as a normal, non-malice filled human being from the outer edges of suburbia close to Detroit, homeless people don’t particularly phase me. I’m used to seeing them here and there. I also have had many encounters, from the days I smoked cigarettes outside venues waiting for concerts, “bums looking for a bum,” to the gentleman who told me to follow my dream that washed my windows. I know that sometimes people aren’t homeless when they stand outside either. My mom’s boyfriend of 9 or so years used to buy food at the grocery store and bring it to the people at this 8 Mile freeway junction, that way if they were trying to just score cash, they wouldn’t profit in that fashion. Most of the time though, it was a mom with children, who maybe wasn’t entirely homeless, but definitely was in need. I’ve seen people huddling under the overpasses, people with no homes in wheelchairs. Some notations from Charlie LeDuff’s book “Detroit: An American Autopsy” talking about men encased in ice for months long dead, and men who had no home, but in their heart and with friends they never considered themselves homeless. Just recently, two men, James Van Horn and another known as Dreadlock Mike were involved in a hit and run, and were killed. Van Horn was known as the “Eat ‘Em Up Tigers” guy, and has and will be an unofficial symbol of the Tigers baseball spirit. Dreadlock Mike was also well known, mostly by his look of being an amputee in a wheelchair, spending time in local areas with high volumes of people. The sad part is, even though there was a public outcry of affection for these men, not much has been done since.
I hear it all the time. “Don’t give that guy money, he’s probably just going to use it for drugs.” “ Homeless people scare me, you never know how they are going to react. They might rob you.” I’ve seen homeless people curled up on the street next to a warm vent. But does that make them less of a person? Because they don’t have a home to go back to? A roof over their head. It’s probably very humbling, having to cuddle up to a sewer. Pretty humbling to ask for money from strangers, too. But I bet they do what they have to. Sure, there’s soup kitchens. Maybe even a place to squat every so often. Can you imagine though? Those people going “go get a job, ya bum.” Try getting the city grime off of your skin after months, let alone years, being homeless. If you showed up to work and you had not showered, had not washed your clothes, you’d get sent home, right? And with the fast food industry hoping that they can strike for a liveable wage, anyone without enough education is not going to get enough to buy a place to live. The worst is the men who hand out the flags, the ones with signs that say “disabled veteran, homeless.” Whether it’s true or not, and many people would beg to differ that some of these people are even homeless, but they are still people. Put yourself in their shoes for a minute and try to think how you would feel.
To me, if I would have to stand on a corner, multiple corners, didn’t have a home to go to, and didn’t have much of anything, I’d be pretty humble and feel pretty small. I guess my point here is covered by Dr. Seuss. “A person is a person, no matter how small.” The next time you see someone homeless, try and do one thing: Don’t judge. You don’t know their situation, you don’t know their struggles, and even though you may have a job, a nice car, and might just think you’re better than them because of all that you have, the thing you lack by snickering at someone less fortunate than yourself makes you a poor person.
-DETamie