Austin has got its fair share of seemingly homeless folks all over town, but especially in the downtown area where services and handouts are more accessible for them.
And, as much as most of us would like to think we are open-minded, generous, more inclusive and/or liberal in our views of this sociological situation of homelessness, when it comes down to it, we probably don’t really want to be bothered. Especially when that homeless person is in our face begging for pocket change for some bogus reason when we are just trying to walk to our car after a long day at the office. Or when that homeless person’s lack of personal hygiene makes it impossible to be in their vicinity without our gag reflex kicking into gear. Oh, we might make an anonymous contribution to our favorite charity, but we’d prefer not to get personally involved.
Let’s face it, we would all rather not see or have to deal with this blight on society. We cannot help but make judgments about why and how “these people” managed to find themselves in these unfortunate circumstances. Though we really don’t know…we’re just making assumptions…because of course, we probably haven’t had an actual conversation with any of these homeless folks to find out what happened in their lives to cause them to sleep on iron benches on downtown sidewalks and urinate in hidden corners for lack of a proper toilet. Yet, if we’re honest, we have to admit that the majority of Americans, ourselves included, are just a few paychecks away from being in the same scary situation. It could happen to any of us - even if we’re not a derelict, a psych case or a hopeless alcoholic.
There is one particular middle-aged gentleman I see almost everyday, sitting alone on one of those iron benches near my office, who does not seem to fit any of the aforementioned categories. This mystery man is not harassing anyone for change, nor is he a stumbling drunk. He seems pretty clean, even well-kept, and though he’s not dressed in Abercrombie & Fitch, his clothes are not tattered or shabby. He is pretty thin - I’ve also never seen him eat or drink anything - and his skin is weathered from being outside every day. He just sits there, doing crossword puzzles, hour after hour, with his well-worn backpack at his feet. Occasionally, I think he works Sodoku puzzles. Sometimes, he’s just basking in the sunshine. But he is always alone; I’ve never seen him even speak to another human being. I assume he’s homeless, but I don’t know for sure. Again, I’m making assumptions based on what I see. Why else would anyone be hanging around downtown, if they don’t have a job there, day after day, just sitting on a bench? Doesn’t he have a home to go to?
Often I’ve been tempted to stop and sit quietly next to him on the bench and have even fantasized about engaging him in conversation, to learn his story, to let him know someone cares. If it were me, sitting on that bench, I’d want someone to talk to me.
But he is not me. And that would be too presumptuous of me. I definitely don’t want to intrude on his space or frighten him or embarrass him. What if it’s the only place where he feels OK about himself? Or where he feels safe in his own private inner world? I tell myself that I can’t take the chance of ruining that for him.
On the other hand, what if he is waiting for someone to just talk to him - to simply recognize his existence? Then it would seem I am the one who is derelict, if I don’t do or say something.
Maybe I will - someday.
