The other night an 18-year old checked into the shelter. He was a high school senior. He only had a backpack with him. He recently made some bad decisions, he told, including marijuana, alcohol, and suspension from school. He told me, because his dad told him he needed to start being honest. His dad told him this at some point before kicking him out of the house to teach him a lesson. He said his dad told him he would end up on the streets later in life if he didn't straighten up. The kid only needed a place to sleep for a few nights, so I entered him into the shelter's "Winter Nights" program, which means he could have some amenities and food if we had enough, but he was only there for a warm place to sleep.
I've met some people green around the edges, but this kid was green all the way through. He looked nervous and scared, but not enough to lose his composure, at least not this early in the night.
I explained as much of the program to him as I could. I was as kind to him as I am to everyone else, although I perhaps took extra care with this kid. I wanted him to learn a lesson, because I didn't want him to ever end up on the streets for good, but neither did I want him scarred for life.
He was definitely surprised by a lot of the goings on of homeless people. The shelter closes during the day and he asked me what he was supposed to do during the day. He asked me where the people in the winter nights program sleep when they aren't at the shelter. He asked me questions with pretty obvious answers, but answers outside his realm of experience, answers many people are afraid to ask, because they don't want to know the obvious answers.
One of the younger guys (just 18 or 19 himself) this 18-year old under his wing. He made sure the kid got what he needed and they hung out a lot. I let them chat loudly and longer than I am supposed to, because I wanted to hang out with them. I wanted to counter the things the other gentleman was saying, things encouraging this kid to get out of his father's house. The kid was sent to learn a lesson, but I saw him having fun at the shelter by someone he thought could be his friend and being encouraged to do the things his father didn't want him to do.
I countered what I could, but what really could I do? I could have made them stop talking. Maybe I should have, but I couldn't stand the thought of that kid lying on a lumpy couch in a dark, unfamiliar place, reflecting on his past, present, and future in tearful solitude.
Obviously my imagination had taken off. I didn't know what the kid would do in any situation, since I had only met him a few hours earlier and let him loose in the shelter after filling out paperwork (I had others to attend to, after all). And who was I to take that kid's moral education into my hands that night? I'm certainly no authority on moral education, let alone how to handle any teenager. Still, I had trouble focusing on anything after all the residents went to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about that kid, wondering how he was doing, considering things I might say to him in the morning. Would I take him aside and debunk the myths he was told last night? Would I continue to be nice to him or purposely ignore him? Would he be OK?
He didn't come in the next night. Or the next. He hasn't been in since. I don't know if he's been with friends, on the streets, in jail, with his family, or alive.
Upon reflection, I'm reminded how self-centered I am. Granted, I have been generally worried about that kid, which is by no means self-centered. But I felt sorry for myself after I left the shelter the next day. I thought of how little work I got done as my attention was given to possible ways to help that kid. I told this story at first because I thought it was a story people needed to hear. Now I wonder if I tell this story because I let it weigh heavy on my heart and mind. Is that why I tell any of these stories? Is all of my storytelling about the storyteller? Perhaps I want people to look at me with their eyebrows curved in slightly as they let out an almost instinctual, pitying "Oh." Maybe I just want praise and attention.
I want them to think about that kid prayerfully, but maybe for me, too.
I didn't realize it at first, but I've been presenting that kid's story completely from my perspective, which is the only way I can tell it. But in doing so, my emotions come out and I implicitly ask people to praise me and feel sorry for me. They praise me for helping out that kid and feel sorry for me as I obviously pretend the weight of others' problems are upon my shoulders.
Or I am projecting: I praise and feel sorry for myself, so I assume others are when I tell them stories.
Last night I thanked a group who donated goods to the shelter. In turn, a few of them thanked me for working at the shelter. I'm no hero. The heroes are the guys living in the shelter, trying to get back on their feet while society sweeps them under the rug, tosses them in a corner, or simply ignores them. They haven't killed themselves and some tell me they don't think about suicide (I have to ask). That's heroic.
I'm no hero. Don't thank me for anything. I have trouble handling knowledge of their suffering and oppression. They live with it daily.
In spite of my fear of projection, of pity and self-pity, of praise and self-praise, I'm not going to stop talking about that kid or any of the other men in that shelter. The shelter purports to be a guiding light in the darkness, trying to give hope and direction. But the shelter is not that light, the men are. They are guiding lights in the darkness. They are angels I get to entertain while fully aware. They are unsung heroes and I must tell their stories, reflecting their light. Whether by intention or not, too many are ignorant of their light and stumble in the darkness. If you cannot or will not see their light, perhaps I can lift my voice, pointing to them. I can only tell their stories as their stories become part of mine. But it is with their light that I can see enough to read my story and tell it to you.
"We tell ourselves stories in order to live."
--Joan Didion
"Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these [...], ye have done it unto me."
--Jesus, according to Matthew's Gospel
"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."
Hebrews 13:2
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