Tis the season to be jolly, right?
Any day I wake up above ground, I'm happy. I know too many dead men and women walking. Nothing reminds me more of this than Christmas time.
Last week, a few of my friends and I each bought 20 $5 Tim Horton's cards to hand out to the homeless. We were repeatedly warned, "They will refuse them. They only want cash to waste on cigs, booze or drugs." I was prepared for anything.
The day before we headed downtown, I went to my bank and someone outside asked for money. I remembered I had the $5 Timmy cards right in my coat pocket. I asked, "What's the money for?" The man answered "For some food." "OK," I said. "Will a Tim Horton's card do?"
His face lit up, and after many thanks, my only thought was: "tomorrow's blitz for the homeless just might work out!"
And work out it did. I think many of the homeless we greeted had never been offered a Tim's card before. It's an idea that can be paid forward. If you feel people who ask for money will waste it, this is one way to feel better about giving in this unique way.
I learned that 40 years ago when I read the Washington Post's advice columnist Ann Landers (her pen name), who said her father would never reject someone who begged for something -- he would take them and get them something. Then it was their choice to say "yes" or "no" but he felt better knowing that if they accepted the offer he did the right thing.
Landers' father was moved by his conscience; my concern for the homeless is not altruistic. I know what feeds my desire to do something, anything, for fellow human beings who have nothing: guilt, responsibility, memories -- knowing that only by the grace of God go I.
You see, my youngest brother, Erik, has been living off and on the streets for 30 years, the last two decades in Vancouver.
My family hasn't seen him in 15 years.
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A couple of years ago I wanted to donate some money to the Kettle Friendship Society that feeds the homeless in Vancouver like my brother.
Unfortunately around that time and the second last time I spoke to my brother (when he called collect from a phone booth), he told me he was banned from the "Kettle" because of fighting with another guest. So, it didn't make sense to send them money when he couldn't even get in the door to benefit from their services.
So I thought of something else. The Palace Theatre on Dundas Street here in London, Ontario, were continuing their restoration process. They were refurbishing seats at $200 a pop. My brother's name is on one of those seats now -- a small plaque. I wanted him to somehow have something permanent, something to say, yes, you were here; you matter.
Or was it me that wanted -- needed -- something permanent?
That's what you do when you have a loved one you can't reach, someone who lives on a street with no name. You crave something tangible. Well, you do during the moments that aren't spent dreading an imaginary phone call that will tell you somebody found his/her body.
Erik's life on the street actually began soon after a very real call I received in 1982 when he was 15 telling me that my brother took an overdose of drugs and was barely hanging on to life.
It's difficult to describe the 30 years since that moment. A perpetual suicide watch. It's unfortunate too many know exactly how my family feels. It's like walking around with a knife in your heart. You laugh, you live, but it's always there.
Last Xmas, I received an email from a Living Waters Mission minister in Vancouver telling me she had seen Erik.
"He is not well, but he is alive. He is staying at a hotel..."
By an odd coincidence, that same weekend I attended a musical South Pacific. These words kept ringing thereafter in my head:
"Once you have found him, Never let him go. Once you have found him, Never let him go!"
I contacted the minister named Gloria -- or "angel" as I saw her -- and asked, "If I send you a money order, would you treat yourself and Erik to the biggest buffet dinner you can find in Vancouver."
She took my brother to Uncle Willy's in Burnaby. She didn't tell him until he was done his meal that I had arranged it and thankfully, rather than be upset, he was thrilled.
Remember I mentioned craving something tangible.
Gloria sent an attachment: a photograph of my brother sitting across from her in the restaurant toasting her.
The first photograph we have of our brother in years.
Now that I had a definite address a friend visiting Vancouver took a care package to the hotel for me and found out that The New Dodson Hotel was owned by Christian entrepreneurs who had bought the hotel to improve the quality of life for a lucky few in Vancouver's poorest neighbourhood.
I just sent a care package from my family and the hotel staff were kind enough to let me know it had arrived. And even better I talked to Erik for the first time in years. My sister happened to be visiting so Erik was able to talk his mother and two siblings. It was great and odd at the same time.
It was obvious my brother still has so many issues that I can't begin to help solve with 4,207 kilometers between us.
But knowing Erik is alive, has a roof over his head and finally hearing his voice I can finally take the knife out my heart.
Even so Erik is still a prisoner of his own war. Yet another year, he hasn't been declared its casualty.
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This year I spent zero, zip, nada on christmas. Everything to the foodban. It helps thos faced with no electricity or no food. And it reminds me of the times when my dearest person found himself without a cent or a bed or a meal and went to the Salvation army which always fed him and gave him a clean bed. He always repaid them double when he got back on his feet. He wasn't an addict or lazy or slow. His iq was very high and he went to the best boarding school. what he didn't have was love. but he always cared for the poor and peace.
In my encounters with all types of people from all walks of like in all types of situations, I have rarely found a person who I could not find something positive and good about, once I engaged them in an in-depth conversation. But we don't do that everyday.
Glad to see that you took some time out.
There are many well meaning people out there w/ spare shelter, but they lack trust & who can blame them?
& who can blame the homeless for being manipulative users when surrounded by relative plenty.
I tried it & it was a disaster
He could have had way better life for weeks had he played his cards right, but he was so uncool, after mere days I wanted my life back.
Now I nurse the thought he has a grudge against me cos i stopped giving
God he was irritating
the implied & mostly stated offer was use of a bathroom, laundry, food, wine but not beer for 2 days off the streets, I even provided him w/ MJ
but he seemed to think I was his servant & he had conned me & was going to play the mark to the max
perhaps petty, but he went from sleeping on trains to wastefully using a dozen kleenex to wipe his nose
there is no cure for bad manners & it seems unreasonable to expect most of them to have manners after their experience on the streets or maybe even further back
Am confident I am a good mentor, but am hopeless with already broken people
were it not for a windfall, am sure I would be way worse off than them. they cope, I doubt I could
maybe I was just a dumb chooser,
possibly I
And we can't or should I say "WON'T" house the homeless.
Society is too high on pride and too short on dignity. We should hang our heads in shame.
You can give all you like, but if you take away their dignity or impose your solutions to their life, it wont work, nor will there be gratitude.
Yes, they must face some harsh realities, but they must be jointly agreed solutions. U have not walked a mile in his shoes so u r unable to know what is achievable.
Shouting, dominating & belittling is not constructive.
That is often the world they are escaping.
Four years ago I saw an emaciated woman panhandling on the street in Oakland. She was the saddest looking person I've ever seen. I stopped, we talked. She was homeless, with multiple addictions, dying from untreated abscesses and drug-induced anorexia. A few months later I said, "Shel, if you stay here, you'll be dead in a month. If you want to live, I'll take you home and we'll get you fixed up."
I did, it was a bigger project than I planned on, but four years later she's clean, mended the bridges with her mom and dad, living with the boys she abandoned fifteen years ago to go chasing cocaine and heroin, and registered for college in the spring. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, and the best. Most people can't do that, they have families who can't deal with it, or they can't afford it, or haven't the time. I was lucky, I could.
Here's how we can, and should, deal with homeless people. Ask, If I stood in that person's shoes, how would I wanted to be treated?
It's just the Golden Rule. Treat others as you would want to be treated, if you were them.
It is something to think that somebody who is as intelligent, caring and hard working as he is could be homeless. But, my brother got the short end of the common sense stick. If he has a buck in his pocket, he spends it on his son or helps out friends. We've tried to help, from paying for counselors to giving him cars and many other things, but he never sticks to therapy and never sticks to plans.
We can't help but love him, but we always worry.
"Last year at this same time of year, a Taiwanese company donated 5,000 pair of socks and gloves to the city of Chicago for the homeless and less fortunate. This was a donation in the purest sense, since no tax deductions were planned or taken. The value of the donation was US$50,000.00, give or take. Fifteen cartons of socks and gloves were send by Fedex prepaid, were received on Pershing Road, and the city of Chicago never acknowledged receipt or extended a thank you, as well as the Mayor, who received a direct email. Trying to help the helpless and homeless seems hopeless".