The Hill and The House

It’s a slippery slope to homelessness. I don't think people actually think about how close they are to that edge… and how lucky one has to be to not enter that level of reality. How lonely do some become, and sink in deeper? How many get addicted to substances, when your basic needs aren’t met anymore? I wish I could survive on my own. But there's so much overwhelm and so many things to keep in mind. How do people not slide into a hole? How do they get out? And why do we fill strangers on the street, with instant shame?

…

He had sat down a hill from the main road’s view, a spot off of the main street’s busy traffic. His bright pink sunglasses with dark lenses contrasting with his unkept beard and receding hairline. He didn’t have an aesthetic to keep up with, and it wasn’t desperation; it was survival.

A black graphic shirt, sleeveless, adorned his torso. He sat with ragged, olive cargo shorts, and his legs were hairy, full of red bumps. Assuming they were mosquito bites from this Southern heat. He had an old 1990s brown leather briefcase, where he kept all his important documents. There was also a dark duffle beside him, that he kept using as an armrest.

A young girl and her father walked up to their silver sedan that was parked right in front of the man’s spot, off the lot. They made sure not to make eye contact, and thus feel obligated to donate something. I wonder how long it had been since their last full meal? Was he one of those “real” homeless people or was he panhandling for a living?

There was a young man with a QT soda cup and lid, the chewed straw shot into some ice cold water. He sipped it ever-so slowly, as if to conserve it. He was in a long grey hoodie, with sagging white pants and white shoes. Part of me doubted HE was homeless, but the fact that he was roaming the park worried me. The initial man didn’t move an inch, but was either speaking with the young man, or was being cross and speaking with himself. They had a dialogue exchange as the father and daughter drove away.

In front of a church’s sign, the man sat waiting for nothing, shuffling his papers in and out of the briefcase. The sign read at the bottom, “all welcome.” Did it mean just those with a steady income?

…

When two or more people decide to build any structure, they begin with a hole in the ground, building out its foundation. Brick by brick, they tinker and create. They put their sweat, blood, and tears and build tirelessly through out the night. They continue for weeks, years, thinking of the family they wanted. ….

Some don’t build as well as other families. Sometimes they hastidly build because that’s what is expected… to simply construct for the sake of constructing… not necessarily intending on meeting their kids someday and being proud of them as they are… no expectations to be a firehouse, or a school. Or a hospital. …the bricks these parents lay, are full of holes and indecisions of fears. Generational trauma seeping in like lead paint or asbestos.

And they either lack the correct mortar or don’t utilize enough. If their children are to use the material they were provided, to make their own structures, wouldn’t those places collapse sooner? Why are the initial people always surprised when those structures fail over and over?

What is it like to come from a loving, strong, and understandingly patient, household? Without the big bold line that divides me or …us… and no one seems to want to talk or acknowledge the gaping cracks in the walls?

The bricks I wield are those I had to forge beyond childhood because my parents couldn’t provide me the proper materials or the correct infrastructure for my own development. I can whine and bitch about my faulty family all day, where my life is going…

I had to forge through making my own mistakes, learning and analyzing. I actually really like myself now, and rediscovering the power I've had inside this entire time… I am strengthening my own bricks. I am reinforcing my internal infrastructure.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready to help another build their own, but hopefully I won't be so alone… confide and build up others, that is what I want in friendships. I’m not sure if I could ever find another human to share in such an endeavor, but I’ll sure donate the supplies.

…

I think I like to remain knowing young people not because I want to feel young; in fact I always feel pretty old… but maybe someday, I'll be ready to give my kid a few blocks of myself. Maybe I won't seem like a total stranger if we had a little bit in common… and that I felt comfortable being around others like Them. Maybe we could still have a connection even if we never know each other?

Snow.