Homeless Kid
There was a young man, maybe 21, sitting on a corner in
Bend. We don’t get the number of panhandlers that Portland does, but they’re
around, especially in summer, especially when the Rainbow Tribe comes through.
This kid looked like one of those. He was dirty, but he was industrious; he was
selling some stones that he had arranged neatly in a row above lettering that
said, “Travelling. Anything helps.”
I have a soft spot in my heart for street kids. I used to
interview them and post a transcript in the blog until one day a street girl
broke my heart. I haven’t been able to do it since. But this young man got me
thinking.
Here he is, likely homeless as far as we would define it.
But how would he define it? Would he consider himself homeless? I wonder
if he might simply view the world as his home. I think it very likely that he
might, based on many conversations I’ve had with people that, at the least,
looked like him. But that’s not what really got my mind spinning (it doesn’t
take much, believe me. I think I must have a constant supply of cosmic WD-40
lubricating that sucker). My thought was this: I put myself through an
expensive, private Jesuit University, Seattle University. My mom and dad paid
the first year at BYU, which I squandered, and the rest was on me. I graduated
and worked hard. There were days when I literally worked 24 hours, took a nap,
and then went back to work. I started and sold businesses. I built dozens of
homes and have lived in three I’ve owned. There were times I didn’t see my kids
for days during my building days. I paid a high price to try to make my own
way. There are a lot of people that feel that way, I think. I think there’s a
lot of deathbed introspection wherein one takes a look back and realizes all
the things they worked so hard for, and it’s vapor. Sure, there were some good
times, successes… but the cost! Time and peace and the happiness that comes
from feeling unfettered; these are the currency of a peaceful passing, I think.
And I see this kid and I look at myself and I just have to think, wow... I’ve
really busted my ass over the years. I mean, I did move to Bend in order to
find more joy in life, but the downturn and other life decisions pretty much
ate anything like equity or a retirement. And in the process my children and
family and ex-wife suffered a lot. So… I guess my observation is that I have
two balance sheets here, one financial and one existential. In the financial
one, this kid wins because although I have hardly any debt at all, I guarantee
you it’s more than he has. My net worth is actually less than zero because as
an avowed minimalist, I don’t own much of anything. I can put everything
I own in the back of a pickup truck. I’m not worried about it; I think I have
some big earning potential yet, but I might not and even if I do, if past
history is any indication my spending will raise with the revenue tide and I
won’t save like I should. But this kid, he lives on what he makes. When I
passed him, he actually asked for half my Payday bar, which, since the thought
that he was actually wealthier than I at the moment had already passed my mind,
I laughingly declined him. But that’s how he lives. He lives quite honestly,
actually. If he doesn’t get it, he doesn’t pretend he has it. This applies to
pretty much everything in his life. I haven’t lived that way. I have pretended
to have, or believed I would one day have, enough money to buy lots of things
that never enter his mind.
And what of the existential balance sheet? Probably a better question, for since I have interviewed lots of street kids, I do know there is a certain undercurrent among many of them that can be pretty hard on the soul. But then again, this kid isn’t begging; he’s selling. That alone belies a certain character that is not always found among other street kids. And I’m not very good at lumping people into categories. I pretty much give everyone the benefit of the doubt, so let’s just play along with me, shall we? Let’s say he’s not addicted to heroin, not running from the law or an eight-month pregnant girlfriend. Let’s just assume, for fun, that he just likes the road. I know I do. What if he lives like this, for say, the rest of his life? What kinds of stories will he tell, and what kind will be told about him? He may end up like a guy I recently heard about on Kauai that went there as a surf bum teen in the 80’s and never left. They call him Lunchmeat, and he’s worked odd jobs for 35 years and lived his life on the beach. No car payment, no huge mortgage. Or another guy I heard of, Eric Marley (no relation and no kidding), who lived soulfully on Maui and in Austin, where he often dumpster dived for flowers behind florists and gave them to strangers. The dude was beloved by so many! And another man I know of named Silver here in Bend, that died of cancer surrounded by friends that loved him (many of whom were reportedly naked) and that he loved.
I’m fifty years old now. I get to look back. I get to share words that are hard to write but that might help someone ask a question of their own life. Because I have to say that for all my blessings, mainly my kids, I think this young man may be on the right path. I think the currency he will end up with could be the kind that does buy happiness, that does transmit wisdom, and joy. It won’t be easy, but never having to sit in a cubicle might be worth the occasional hunger pang.
Maybe I’ll go back there tomorrow and give him his Payday bar.
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