“Giving Face” to the Homelessness

Our Director of Development says we should change semantics when talking about the “homeless”—that generic, faceless, lumped-together group of ‘others’ who don’t seem to connect with our immediate lives. Instead, he insists, we should say “John” or “Maria” or “Karla--the 15-year-old junior high school student.” This way, the homeless have a face. A story. They become people just like us, with hopes and dreams and needs.

The idea made perfect sense, but didn’t hit home until yesterday afternoon, when I met a friend for lunch at an “all-you-can-eat” Peruvian buffet ($6.50!). On the way out, I noticed a man in his car, enjoying the buffet food from a large Styrofoam box. He had a shaggy beard, a pillow in his back seat, and seemed to devour the food at an alarming rate. It did not occur to me why he was eating in his car. I figured he had gotten off of work, was hungry, and didn’t feel like going inside.

Hours later, something nagged at my subconscious. My mind pieced together details I had overlooked before. There was a sleeping bag in the back seat, and the pillow in front was badly stained (no washing machine). His beard was more than shaggy—it was unkempt—and his personal grooming was surely not regular. I wanted to know why and how he became homeless. Was he a former school custodian? A laid-off factory worker? An out-of-work aerospace engineer with a foreclosed home? (And would these three men look any different from each other, after living in a car for months)?

Did he have a job but no home (and therefore could afford the buffet)? Or had the restaurant given him a free meal? Was he embarrassed to enter the restaurant? Instructed to eat off premises? Did he have a family? Was he a veteran? What was his name?

Suddenly, he became “John, the laid-off school custodian” or “David, the aerospace engineer with a foreclosed home.” He had a face and a story. He could be someone I knew. I wish I would have paid more attention earlier. I know I will next time.