a strange moment...

I had a strange moment today. Every day when I drive to work I drive down Commerce and I pass Mel Trotter , and on the way home I drive down Division Street and pass Guiding Light , Degage , and Heartside Ministry . I often see the same people, sitting in the same spots. One man likes to paint the wall on the corner of Commerce and Cherry. Another likes to sit on Oakes, right before Division. He always looks like someone just told him a good joke. Another man lingers at the corner of Wealthy and Division. He's much more frail than the others, and he smokes a lot. I saw him a few times this summer wearing shorts, and I couldn't believe that the legs underneath him were capable of moving him anywhere. I get an interesting view of the town every day.

Today when I was on Commerce, I came to the four way stop at Cherry Street. Right before I reached the stop sign, an older man in dirty clothes crossed the street from in front of Mel Trotter, and with as much coordination as his body would allow, hustled across the street, clutching a paper bag. I had to hit the brakes abruptly so I didn't run the poor man over. As I watched him cross in front of my car, a strange feeling came over me as I realized that its likely that every thing that man owns was either being worn on his body or carried in that bag. After he crossed, I proceeded to the four way stop. At the same time three other cars pulled up, one from each of the four directions, and stopped in sync at the intersection. We were all driving new SUV's. It was an odd moment, sitting there with Mel Trotter in my rear-view mirror, waiting for my turn to cross the street. Its one of those moments that you wish you were driving that Buick Century that you bought when you first turned 16. I wanted to get out of my car and abandon it, it was like I didn't want to be associated with something so nice and so shiny. But I realize that is foolish, and become frustrated, because its those moments when you realize there is no right thing to do.

My brother and his wife help out a homeless man named Keith. Keith, as they put it, is the most qualified homeless man around. He graduated high school, went to the Navy, and fought in the Gulf War. There are a lot of reasons why he should have succeeded. I suppose after a long string of events, bad things began to win out the fight against his qualifications for success. They collect their pop cans for Keith, help provide him with things that he needs, drive him around to look for his bike when it has been stolen, and let him keep his few belongings on their back porch (until recently when they were stolen). Over the years they have shared parts of Keith's story. When I first heard that Keith is an alcoholic, I wondered why they would give him cans, which equals money, which equals collateral to purchase alcohol with. I believe it was my brother who said that he would rather give Keith the benefit of the doubt that he would spend the money well, rather than give him nothing. And although I've known it all along, I realized even more today what he means by that. It isn't the money that is going to fix their problems, or get them a job, or find them a home, or kill their addictions. Perhaps its not the money, but its the kindness. Perhaps its the persistent confidence in Keith that my brother and his wife keep showing him when they help him. Time after time of showing kindness has to translate into belief. Belief that someone believes he's still going to make it.