Reflecting on my quasi-homeless state on account of my current money issues, I am reminded of a story from my past:
In my fourth year at Wilmington College, I went on an alternative Spring Break trip to Memphis where for a week I worked with Chad Pegracke of Living Lands and Waters, an organization that collects trash up and down the Mississippi River on barges. I went with the leader of the Chi Alpha group (a Christian group) that I was a part of and a couple of other people. The actual work was fun. I'd recommend it. Everything else about it was a bad time.
First off, a number of other schools from all over the place participated. A couple of girls constantly talked about what bars they would hit up after the fact. My group leader low key called them loose, and would later say that she didn't. My group leader would lecture me about jaywalking, even when it was safe to. Admittedly, I was under-dressed for the occasion. I was cold and wet all the time. That's on me. But back to the point, we went to dinner at a number of establishments on Beale Street. We would go to lunch at various pulled pork places. On Beale Street, known for its entertainment, there would be many homeless people asking for money. Many of them disabled, all of them polite. However, my group leader would never get the full context of the conversations I'd have with them, and Tara would often yank me away from them as if I were a lost child. Many Christians in more contemporary churches just have this very weird thing about thinking that the poor take advantage; many of those poor being blacker than them. As someone whose parents grew up in Cleveland, as one who grew up poor, as one whose first boss was a woman of color, as one who grew up knowing the Christian concern for social justice - this was disheartening.
At some point later in the week, I was up late because of emotional distress from Amy trying to have a conversation with me. I heard a noise at the door that my roommate left open. The girls that Tara called loose crawled through the door and up onto my bed and laid on either side of me. They told me, "Schuschu! Sing us a song!" I was distressed, so I sang a song that always used to put me to sleep.
There is a young cowboy that lives on the range
his horse and his cattle are his only companions
he works in the saddle and he sleeps in the canyons
waiting for summer, his pastures to change
and as the moon rises, he sits by his fire
thinkin' about women and glasses of beer
closing his eyes as the doggies retire
he sings out a song, which is soft, but is clear
as if maybe someone could hear...
They said, "Oh, he's trying to put us to sleep. How cute." and then got out of bed and walked off. I was mortified. I felt violated. They did not take advantage of me, but I was uncomfortable, but I felt bad about what people had said about them just being themselves. And all of that happening when I had my mind on other things like Amy and these new Christians being how they are.
I see the homeless around here. Some are kind. Some are manipulative. I have reacted in a wide range of ways. I wish that karma treats me well.
