Week 2

152 lbs

One of the things I promised myself when I started this project is to try to treat homeless people like real human beings. I know this sounds weird and maybe even patronizing. But it is the truth.

I used to be a fan of Cesar Milan’s show The Dog Whisperer. He always cautioned against looking a dog in the eye when you first meet it. By avoiding its eye, you signal that you are alpha or are in charge or some other form of dominance.

I began to wonder if people avoiding meeting the eye of a homeless person on the street was simply because they felt guilty about not helping the person, or if this was actually some sort of subconscious assertion of superiority. If it’s the latter, I am sure most homeless people don’t need to have their feelings trod any lower.

By and large, I am a reasonably kind person, and do smile at panhandlers and homeless people and return their greetings. I almost always apologize if I can’t (or won’t) give them money. But I promised myself, that I will make a greater conscious effort to always treat my fellow human beings, especially those down on their luck, as people deserving of respect and attention.  

Does this mean I will stop for every single homeless person I pass? Probably not. Will I give each one of them some money? Again, probably not. But I will not deliberately avoid eye contact, and if by chance our eyes meet, I will smile and treat them like any well-dressed stranger on the street.

I don’t see as many homeless people where we live as, say, in the City. But quite by chance on my very first week I am out during my lunch break and see a young man, in his mid-twenties, clearly homeless,  sitting in front of the grocery store with a huge black dog. Many of the homeless people near my work seem to have dogs.

He asks me if I can spare some change for breakfast. I hesitate.

He says – “Don’t worry about the dog. He won’t bother you.”

That’s not what is bothering me. I have never been bothered by a homeless person’s dog. They almost always seem to be perfectly well behaved and docile. 

I am just fascinated by the fact that the young man is reading! I can’t help staring.

I always surreptitiously try to see what people are reading. It’s how I size them up. I’m not judging them, but it’s just something I do.

I pull out $2 from my wallet and hand it to him. He thanks me, but is now clearly uncertain about whether to smile at me. 

“Talk to him,” I can hear myself saying. “Talk to him.”

So I ask him what he is reading.

“The Things They Carried,” he says and holds it out towards me. “It’s about the Vietnam war.”

I look at the title – it’s by Tim O’Brien.

“Cool,” I say and move on.

I want to say more, but am afraid of intruding. I want to ask him why he is homeless. Why is a good looking and intelligent-sounding young man who is reading a well reviewed book about the Vietnam War sitting on the ground with a backpack and a dog outside a grocery store in a small town?

My son is 25. He is an inveterate reader. I am moved beyond words.

I wonder what my son is doing at that moment and my eyes tear up. I quickly turn away and leave. Did the young man think I was avoiding his eyes?