Today as I was driving home from Las Vegas Catholic Worker’s Kitchen I saw one of the guys from the soup line. This man is always so polite and genuinely thankful; it can be seen in his eyes. He has a bright shining smile that he shares with me every morning in the line, a smile that lights his face behind its mask of hair. I have never had a bad encounter or day with him, he always puts a smile on my face as he leave. We have only shared a few sentences, a simple hello, a good to see you, and the unspoken happiness that shines through his face. But as I was driving home I saw him standing by the road; I thought he was waving at me but as I got closer to him I realized he was talking to someone, there was no one around him. He was not angrily shouting at the passing wind, but looked as If her were having an ongoing conversation, as if someone were standing before him sharing their thoughts and ideas and listening to his in return.
A feeling began to gradually sink in and grab hold in my heart. Any day hundreds of cars pass by him, and I am sure they judge him and make assumptions as to why he is talking as if he is having a conversations. I am sure harsh words are thought and expressed, and it hurt to know so. I do not know this man, I don’t even know his name, but I know him enough to care about him. I would not want any one making assumptions and saying rude things to the ones I love, and this is what happens to him.
I bet his story is a good one. I bet when he was young he had dreams like all of us do; I bet he was even happier than I know him to be today. It made me wonder what his story is. I wanted to know why he lives on the street and talks as if there is someone near him. When I see him on the line he does not talk to whatever or whoever it is he feels he is talking to. He does not seem like he is a ranting lunatic, and when he talked to what he does he seems to be fully engaged in the conversation.
It is wrong for us to judge him and think we know what he has faced and what he is going through, because we are wrong if we do so. There is no way to know if the loss of a loved one, the hardships of a childhood, or hatred and criticism have led him to the path he stands on today. But I feel like I want to know, I want to know if he is talking to a long lost loved spouse, or a friend he made up a long time ago, or even a former version of himself. I want to be able to understand rather than feel like I should feel sorry for him, or judge him.
I heard a quote a few days ago by Elbert Hubbard “To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing.” Many people feel this way about the homeless in our society, that they are nothing or that they choose to be nothing. But still they are criticized. So that must mean that they are something, they are someone, someone that matters to someone else. And that has to count for something; people should not treat the homeless and needy with disdain, rather put out a kind helping hand because we do not know their story. And I can only assume we would want others to know our own story before they make such harsh judgments.
Lonely and feeling detested he stands unaided waiting
His balding hair knotted and soiled.
Pitifully he looks into the hundreds of cars passing
His dirty misshapen hands reaching for help.
Looks of disgust and hatred he bows his head from
Harsh words strewn out of the cold windows passing.
Words he has long ago grown accustom to.
His face burnt and full of worried weathered lines
Hardened to the world he looks to for kindness.
The flashing lights turn on as he is handed a simple piece of produce
Greedily his dirty hands and mouth work to devour it.
He is sent away once again rejected
To find another place to beg.
Somewhere else to seek a helping hand.
Slowly with a head weighed down
Shoulders slumped he limps away
Filled with hate, pain and rejection.
Slowly my once full, bright and hopeful heart
Disintegrates and darkens with the
Lack of love and kindness in the world.
Slowly I become the dejected.
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