March 3
Yesterday was my day with my houseless friends. I got to spend time with John. He rode along with me to buy propane. One on one is my opportunity to get to know my friends better. Their stories make me sad. I can’t imagine how sad retelling their stories makes them. If my friend is a smoker I try to buy them a pack of cigarettes, I remember smoking to be a comfort, even these 43 years later.
But I think their stories need to be told. I told my own story at a story telling event at the Bee’s Wing Restaurant on Cully Blvd on February 19th. (https://youtu.be/9_kNmv87ULE) and found it sad to share, but also therapeutic, I realized my failures are shared by my parents'.
John couldn’t even remember how many high schools he’d attended. He said when he was 11 his father died. He said after that he lived with several relatives in multiple places, Oregon, Texas and California. I’m sure he was a handful, boys especially act out when they lose a parent. He never received a diploma. Eventually he spent some time in prison, he didn’t tell me why. But I asked him “how did you become homeless?” His answer was unique. He said, I’ve always been homeless. Now that makes me sad.