We Ain't Your Family

There is a small man at the shelter who is the same age as my mother. They call him Littl'un. I had the privilege of filling out some paper work with Littl'un one night and we talked a lot.

He never made it to high school and I didn't bother to ask why. He never got his GED, either. The older guys at the shelter don't think there is any use, because "who would hire someone my age?" Littl'un had a job at a local plant, but was part of a number of layoffs. He also got kicked out of the house when his wife found out he had been sleeping around.

Homeless. No job. No wife. Littl'un drinks and I'm not sure I can blame him. The other night he got "permanently evicted" from the shelter because he came in drunk. Had I been there, I might have let him in. When Littl'un came in drunk, he would stumble onto one of the couches and you wouldn't hear anything from him until the morning.

But the shelter has rules for reasons. You never know when a drunk person will become dangerous. This winter night, Littl'un was rightfully told to leave. Since Littl'un and I talked about the incident, I get the feeling Littl'un felt belittled. Supposedly he wasn't even going to stay in the shelter, he was just going to stop in and say he was too drunk to stay in. Who knows if that story is true. I have no reason to disbelieve Littl'un; I think him an honest man. But we all know a drunk man's plans don't always turn out the way he planned. I suspect Littl'un would have tried to stay at the shelter that night. Who knows?

Littl'un told me the nighttime worker put on an attitude and was throwing around his authority. I imagine Littl'un felt the worker was like a bouncer puffing out his chest (and let's remember, these are the interpretations of what I heard from a man telling of a story when he was drunk, reality may be skewed). Feeling offended and cornered (so I interpret), Littl'un said something about kicking the young man's ass. Later that night, Littl'un was placed on the "permanent eviction" list. He cannot enter the normal program again. He cannot even enter the winter-nights program.

I let Littl'un in before I understood the nature of his eviction. I helped Littl'un file a grievance concerning the status of his eviction. I let Littl'un into the shelter on a number of occasions and the other night I noticed a note saying he was not to be let into the shelter. I read that note too late, too.

One night, Littl'un came into the office and told me he was worried about me not going to Maine to be with my family for Christmas. He asked me what I was going to do and I told him I was going to spend the day with him and the rest of the guys. There are two kinds of family, anyways.

I told Littl'un he and the rest of the guys would just have to be my family on Christmas. Enough of the guys in the shelter have family in the area they won't be spending time with for various reasons. But for some reason Littl'un and the gang still see me as different from them, as an other. And I am. I have two jobs, an education, a home, and lots of food. They eat whatever I am given to serve them. Most don't have steady work if any. They are only allowed to get drunk during the day, in public, if they want a place to stay the night.

Littl'un told me, "We ain't your family. We might be your friends, but it isn't the same," or something to that effect. I still get choked up writing about it. He said "friends."

You're alright, Littl'un.

Since writing this piece, I received a call from the ER while at the shelter. The lady from the hospital asked if I had any space for Littl'un that night. I said I was not allowed to let him into the shelter. And for a moment, I was proud that I had followed the rules, the rules that rightly and effectively protect the safety of the men in the shelter. That pride didn't last long. The lady told me she was looking for some place for Littl'un to go, since he told her he had nowhere to go once she released him. He was taken to the ER earlier that day for alcohol poisoning.

I miss you, man. I hope you'll be OK

A High School Senior Enters

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

An Overview of My Place at the Shelter

As an introduction, let me explain my position at the shelter. The shelter I work at is a men's shelter. Across the street is the women's shelter, a place for homeless women and a sanctuary for victims of domestic violence. The women's shelter is open 24 hours/day, as a refuge for female victims of domestic violence.

The men's shelter is not such a haven and is understaffed as far as volunteers and employees go. The men's shelter is open from 7pm-8am, kept open by paid employees. On Friday mornings, the shelter is open from 8am-12noon, thanks to our volunteer. That is volunteer in the singular.

When any of the employees arrive at 7pm, most of the men are already waiting outside. They are allowed to wait outside the shelter as early as 6:45pm, any earlier and they are trespassing. I've been told most of the employees make the men wait outside until he turns of the alarm and is situated, ready for the men to come in.

It is often best, professionally, to take that minute or so to get ready. One day it just got too cold for me to make the men wait on me and one of the men told me, "You're a good man, Trevar. None of the other guys let us do this." I don't know what the other employees do. Maybe the other employees do what I do and maybe they don't. Maybe their idea of "too cold" is colder than mine (I am known for being quite intolerant of the cold). The smallest gesture can mean so much.

So the men enter the empty shelter and sign in. Sometimes I will write down their name and the time they entered. Other times I'll have them write it down. We have a metal-detecting wand to make sure they aren't bringing in any weapons. Apparently I was known for how I used the wand. One guy told me I never move the wand up far enough on the torso. He told me this after confessing and handing me a set of brass knuckles he brought into the shelter.

At this time, the employee conducts an interview with any newcomers to "verify" homelessness and take information that may or may not be shared with the Carolina Homelessness Information Network (CHIN), depending on the man's wishes. Whether or not we share the information, we still fill out the paperwork. I guess the paperwork is partly for our records and partly for our deal to get funding. I'm not completely positive, but that's what I was told, and so it is the story I tell. I love conducting these interviews, because I learn a lot about the men during this time. I close the office door, give them my attention, and let them tell stories if they so choose. And a lot of them do.

We get to fill out this paperwork a lot. Our shelter's program allows any homeless man to stay for up to 90 days before being exited for two weeks. After that two-week exit, he can stay a second time for 60 days. After another two-week exit, he can stay for 30 days. After the third stay, his time is up for the year unless the weather is cold and he enters our Winter Nights program, which allows any homeless person to use the shelter during cold (below 35ºF) and inclement weather (snow, ice, etc).

Out Winter Nights program is open to men during their two-week exit and after their third stay in the program. Men staying for Winter Nights sleep on couches and cots, not beds. They get leftovers, not the (supposed to be, but not always) hot food we serve. They are not allowed to use our laundry facilities, they are asked to shower at night instead of in the morning, and they do not benefit from case management and the vouchers we receive from places like the Salvation Army (normally). Winter Nights starts at 9pm, not 7pm, unless the weather is really rough. And unlike our normal program, a man on the Winter Nights program does not have to come in nightly, whereas our 30-60-90 program has a curfew. At least, this is my understanding.

Once the guys are in, they often come by to get things. We hand out hygiene products and cleaning products. Sadly, if the employees didn't keep these items under lock-and-key, there wouldn't be enough to go around. Some men wouldn't take a lot, but there are some guys who will take whatever they can get their hands on. I'm continually surprised at the things stolen in the shelter, from rolls of toilet paper to instant coffee.

Before 8pm, the women's shelter has provided food for me to pick up and serve the men. The women make the food because the men do not have a kitchen, not because of some outdated gender roles. When I first started working at the shelter, I was told to serve the food, to ensure there is enough to go around. During the holiday season, we have always had more than enough to eat In fact, I have seen a regretful amount of food go to waste, because the food is not eaten. Perhaps this bounty will change when the season changes and people forget to be charitable.

I don't clean up after the men. They are all assigned chores, every one of them responsible for a part of the community. Sometimes I have to ensure the chores get done and done well, but the majority of the men are quite responsible. The only other responsibilities for the employee are to keep the peace, distribute medicine to those who have it, turn the lights off, enforce quiet hours, and turn on the alarm.

The employee spends a lot of time sitting in the office. We have cameras in the shelter and I'll watch what people are doing from time to time. I'll walk around to visit some. I've found I don't have to do much walking around, though. If I keep the office door open, the men will come to visit me.

Wake up is 6am. Breakfast is seldom hot, since I don't do so well cooking sausage and I don't know a thing about cooking grits and livermush. When we have it, I'll make eggs, but I'm not very good at cooking for so many people at once. And the kitchen at the women's shelter isn't the easiest for cooking. Half of the burners don't work and all of the teflon pans are badly scratched. Every time I cook there, I'm afraid of setting off the fire alarm.

Check out is generally at 8am and morning chores need to be done 15 minutes before checkout. One of the employees makes the men check out earlier. He must have another job or something. Other employees will stay later when the weather is rough. I've been staying later when possible, simply because of the cold. A lot of the men have things to do during the day and less than half stick around past 9 or 10. Any employee who stays past 8 am becomes a volunteer.

Both shelters are named after guiding lights for vessels on the water. I suppose the shelters are meant to serve as a place the homeless can find and will help guide them to safety. After a month at the shelter, I realized it isn't the shelter that serves that purpose in my life. It is the men. They are the guiding light.