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Fucked Up College Kids File 469
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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rose colored glasses
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I want to look at my world with new glasses. For too long I have just
watched the bright spots and realize now that I've missed too much
around me. These notes are attempts to share those new found vistas as
I become aware of them.
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Yesterday, as I drove up to the shelter, I saw them, huddled together
in the frigid wind, waiting. Tired, gray men, mostly. Beaten down and
resigned, anticipating the moment when the door would open and for a
few hours, at least, they could retreat from the street.
I've been coming here for years. So many faces are familiar by now.
And yet each time there are new people too. People with luggage, I call
them, because they have not yet learned to shed their suitcases and
bags.
Silently the guests queue up for mail or soap or a chance to use the
iron. For some, there is still a desire to look fresh. But for most,
there is the taint of too few showers and unwashed clothes. There is
generally a stench about the shelter - a kind of musky heavy smell that
defies description - a smell that I've never smelled any where else.
After all these years, I seldom seem to notice it any more.
Religious Mass is held and then the services begin to open around the
big room. Showers start and the nurse begins to see patients. Alcohol
counseling is offered and job referrals. Some people do a few odd jobs
so that they can get a change of clothing. There are always more jobs
available than there are people who are interested in doing them. Mail
is very busy.
Sometimes I wonder why I come down here every Sunday. I long ago
realized I would not directly change anyone's life here. The early
optimism of "making a difference" was quickly erased. Later, working
with the alcoholics, I've had this realization reinforced. Where it
would have seemed that the people on the street would be ready for a
chance to improve their lives, I have found they are highly resistant
to change. Working in the shelter has come to be much like I imagine
working in a hospice would be. By that I mean that we make the
residents comfortable. We offer many more things to them. But most go
unused.
Still there have been successes too. People have come and shared parts
of their lives. There have been those moments where that spark of
delight has flashed in eyes across the counter. There have been those
times where I've felt like I did make a difference.
Noon approaches. Soon the men and the occasional woman will begin to
drift out, heading for the catholic soup kitchen or perhaps to the
Samaritan shelter to wait for a bed. The nurse shuts down her clinic.
The alcohol session has been ignored again. The mail is put up. The
door is closed and locked. And after gathering for a closing prayer, we
go too.
Part of my dichotomy. From there I go backstage at the Nutcracker to
watch the ballet. Somehow it seemed fitting to have a day grounded in
both sides of the spectrum. Sitting in the darkened wings, watching the
young ballerinas bouncing and jumping to limber up for their moment on
the stage reminded me of football players anxiously waiting for their
moment of glory. I was surprised that the large cast was mostly teenage
girls. But then I realized that most boys are probably not interested
in ballet. It was the second to the last performance and I could feel
the exhaustion in the wings. They are ready for this year to end.
During intermission we went out into the crowd in their furs and
jewels. It seemed so far far far away from the shelter of the morning.
I can appreciate both worlds. There have been moments in my life where
I've felt like I have been outside looking in. And other moments where
it seemed nothing could be better. But what I realize is that both of
these are part of all of us. Those faceless homeless lonely men and
those dancing whirling ballerinas and those comfortable contented
matrons are all part of the whole. We, each of us, have our roles to
fill, our parts to play. I know that for me the opportunity I have been
given has made my life richer. Each of these people, whether they will
ever know it or not, bring joy to my life. And it makes me hungry for
more. Thank you for being a part of that life force. Regardless of our
individual and collective outcomes, your life has given a spark to
mine. And it seems to me that that is what all of this is all about.
Smiles.
FTF
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