Remembering The Homeless On The Longest Night

Today's the fabled longest night of the year, the Winter Solstice. It's also the day that groups gather around the country to reflect and remember our human kin who departed this incarnation from their homes on the streets.

"Each year since 1990, on or near the first day of winter and the longest night of the year, National Coalition for the Homeless (NCH), National Consumer Advisory Board (NCAB), and the National Health Care for the Homeless Council (NHCHC) has co-sponsored National Homeless Persons' Memorial Day to bring attention to the tragedy of homelessness and to remember our homeless friends who have paid the ultimate price for our nation's failure to end homelessness."
~from the NCH website

Here in Swamp City's barrio, there are plenty of homeless folks. Always have been, since it's a place ripe with mythology that draws hopeful souls from all over. We know some by name. We know some of their stories. The Editor, The Boy, and I are some of those crazy drivers who make you wait longer at a traffic light while we pass change, water, bananas, and granola bars through the window into grateful hands. Today, we'll be cooking some of Mira Dessy's crockpot snacks  for handing out to our friends near the freeway. There's also a gathering downtown to mark the day and say a few prayers.
"The Homeless" live in my heart in part because I've had direct opportunities to serve them at several different kinds of junctions: as a social worker, as a volunteer, as a passerby. I've also nearly been in their shoes a few times.

I sure hope you've heard that the numbers of homeless and those on the threshold are growing. And they're not all the stereotypical addicted men, although that's the more visible group. A recent report on NPR said "A new report from the National Center on Family Homelessness shows that the rate of homelessness among children in the U.S. has increased nearly 33 percent since 2007. This means roughly 1.6 million kids." The Huffington Post has a slideshow representing the "10 States With The Highest Rates" of child homelessness.
But you likely won't see them out there on the curb.

Back before the first Gulf War, I managed children's services at a battered women's shelter. Their stories were both similar and different from many homeless families. But I'll never forget the phone call I took from a well-meaning woman who wanted to bring her daycare kids on a field trip to hand out toys and visit with our shelter's children. "We think it will be good for them to see that these kids are no different," she said.

Her intentions were naively sweet. It IS a good thing for children to be taught compassion and that we're all alike at heart. But it's not such a good thing to feel like you're on display for the benefit of others' enlightenment, especially when you feel like your whole life is one tenuous link after another in a chain of chaos. We declined the daycare's offer.

If you can, take some time today to simply recognize how good you've got it. Dare to consider that not everyone "out there" is a ne'er-do-well cad. If you pass by any on your way to the shopping malls, take five minutes to ask them their name. Tell them yours. Wish them warmth, out loud, to their face. Every connection counts.

Comments

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I was homeless for a while - the last thing I ever wanted was somebody to talk to me. Pity doesn't often feel good. I've spent a lot of time thinking of a different approach, but I haven't yet been able to come up with one.

[TPK Bodhisattva, of course]

True, true. Two thoughts: The folks I was thinking about, the ones to whom I hand things from the car, are those who actively seek connection with others, via their signs, extended hand, striving for eye contact, etc. Also, there have been many times in my life when my mind thought that the last thing I wanted was human contact, but in fact, my heart longed for it -- that is, my heart longed for a type of connection that wasn't presently available in my current moment, usually a kind of truly unconditional concern from another for me, to the core. It is common for sentient beings who've been terribly hurt by those in their daily lives to want no contact; often, though, what they want is a different kind of contact, not to be abandoned by all. Peace.