Everyone Has a Name: Disassembling the Distance

People sometimes ask me, "How do you talk to the homeless?"

"With my voice," I say. 

Forgive my mockery, but it is within this very question that we must begin to disassemble the distance between "the homeless" and "the domiciled."  One would never ask, "How do you talk to an auto mechanic?" Yet we ask this of the homeless, as tho they spoke a different tongue, or were unapproachable. In fact, the homeless are among the most approachable people in the world. They have no walls. No doors. They are exposed, naked, and often begging for help. 

Begin with hello. You'd be surprised how many homeless people are simply surprised to be seen, are pleased to be addressed at all. Crowds pass them every day as though they were lamp posts. I usualluy ask if they could use some help, a sandwich, a smoke, a few dollars. Almost universally, the offer is accepted. I ask how long they've been out here, where they stay at night. And I ask their names, offer a handshake, give them mine. Seems so simple, doesn't it. The reaction with which I am most often met is surprise. 

I remember approaching a man in a wheelchair. He had a cup out, a few coins inside. His medical condition made speech difficult, so he'd been sitting in silence, waiting for donations. I offered him a few dollars and he gestured to his pocket, so I tucked the bills inside for him. His right hand was even more crumpled than mine (in my case, due to a birth injury), so he offered a fist bump. I smiled and returned the gesture. He offered a crooked smile in return. The point is that we found a way to connect, and it wasn't difficult to do.

I know that many of those who find themselves on the street are there, at least in part, due to addiction or mental health issues. And sometimes that can seem intimidating. But in my experience, I have not found myself threatened or strongarmed in any way. As a recovering drunk with 15+ years clean I know a little about addiction. Usually I find that those with a dependency are happy to talk about what it's like trying to support a habit or stay out of the drunk tank. Occasionally we talk about sobriety, and most have experienced short periods of it, tho not sustained. Nonetheless, I am far more guarded when speaking with a shoe salesman than I am with a homeless addict. There's a fair chance the salesman will fleece me for $80 and leave me with sore feet, while the addict may take $2 and five minutes of my time.

Just remember: everyone has a name. We all start and end with that, regardless of what material goods we may acquire or lose along the way.  A name. A handshake. Dignity.  It's really quite simple.

 

 

Comments

[Solitary Diner]

Beautiful post. In my line of work, I often work with patients who are homeless or otherwise "social outcasts", and I am saddened by how appreciative they can be of the small amount of kindness I show them. It's an unfortunate reflection of how little kindness they receive in other areas of their lives.

[Charlie]

Solitary Diner - Thank you. It astounds me how easily one can be cut-off from a sense of community while being in the hub of a city.

[trainwatcher]

You talk to "them" with more than your voice, Charlie. Even if you never spoke a word, your open eyes, your extended hand, your small gestures of kindness, all speak volumes. Your willingness to pay attention is a rare and precious gift of human warmth in this "ice age" of fear and self-absorbed isolation. Bless you.

[Curmudgeon Commuter]

I so heartily agree with this post. To have someone meet their eyes when they talk to them, to ask gentle, non judgmental questions about their well-being or needs....these poor souls are all used up, and invisable to the hustle-bustle crowds stepping around them like they are a mud puddle that must be avoided. I struck up a (limited in knowledge on my end) conversation with an old codger named Joe, who was shoeless, and he named every baseball great (starting with shoeless Joe Jackson) from every team in American Baseball. He could recite batting averages of DiMaggio, Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, years played with which teams, nicknames, world series winners of what year, it was astounding, and his voice rose in confidence
and he sat a little straighter in his wheelchair while he remembered his own Field of Dreams. I bought him a cuppa Joe, and the wave/salute he gave me as I reluctantly boarded my bus stayed in that salutation for as far as I could see before
we turned the corner. There but for the grace of God go I. G'nite Shoeless Joe, stay warm my friend.

[Amy]

Great post. And congratulations on the book!