On a narrow median along Bay Area Boulevard, in front of Macy's and the Cheesecake Factory, the green grass has worn down to the brown dirt. Amongst the hibernating crepe myrtles is a paprade of sign holders jockeying for attention. There are four Santas wearing bright yellow closeout signs over their jolly red suits. One Santa leans against a shade tree with his elasticized beard pulled down under his chin. An everyday-looking woman strolls back and forth with her written plea for money to help feed her family of four. There is a troop of orange-safety-vested men with ratty buckets and pamphlets who knock on car windows unfortunate enough to catch the red light. And then there is the old man with the hat. The guy to whom my daughter shares her allowance or for whom she buys a meal.
Day after day, weather permitting, the old man stakes his claim on a five foot spanse of this median. He is not a window knocker or a forlorn distant stare kind of fellow. He employs old time schtick to get noticed on this over-crowded curb that borders the Baybrook Mall. Always smiling, he flips his hat high in the air, catching it with the enthusiasm and grace of a ballerina. He needs money. It's obvious. This man is homelessness personified. Even when his leg is in a cast, this man smiles, twirls his hat, gives a bow as the light turns green and his audience rolls on. As the other median occupants change faces and places, the man with the hat is constant. Next time I see him I will ask him his name, because no matter our circumstance, we all just want to have a human connection.
I am not unlike the man with the hat, though I am not homeless. In this town, people see me, but they don't know my name. I am new here. This city is large enough that I can be annonymous everyday if I choose. But I want a connection. A friendly face to know my name and to matter. There have been days here, when hubby is traveling and my daughter is busy with friends, that have been deafening with silence, void of any meaningful face to face interactions. It's like standing on a remote Vermont hillside just after fresh snow; cold isolation in a beautiful place. It's what hubby must feel on business trips touring the glittering Singapore streets: alone in a crowd. As people, we need to share our experiences with someone daily.
No matter where we live, how large or small the town, the homeless are there.
Sometimes we disregard the homeless out of fear. If we look, if we smile, will we end up the same way? What if someone sees us talking to this person? Money is not the only thing we have to give. We have a smile, a nod, a handshake, a kind word. We have sandwiches we can make and handout, an extra blanket, a spare sweater, a hot cup of coffee. If someone is standing on the corner willing to be seen, the least we can do is let them know we see them.
This Christmas, as you leave the mall, or are out on a standard grocery run, please remember the homeless you see everyday. As a human race we are connected. This Christmas, make eye contact, give of yourself if you can. Offer warmth of the human spirit. It will do you more good than you fear.
LOVE & CONNECTIONS
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