Skip to main content

breakfast with Andrew or Geoff

Mansfield has one homeless man that I see on a semi-regular basis.
He doesn't look like he should be homeless.
He looks more like someone I went to highschool with.
Who could really use a shower.

This morning I saw on my way home from getting coffee, and pulled over like I occasionally do.
I didn't have any cash.
So I went next door and got some breakfast instead.
Two sausage egg and cheese bisquits.
And I pulled them out.
And he remembered me.
And we sat on the stoop and ate our breakfasts together.

And introduced himself as Andrew.
Which is probably not his real name.
Because later he told me a different one.
And we jumped right into our stories.

Before getting on to me about what is "safe"....
I don't really think we are called to safe.
But nonetheless I didn't give him my last name or social security # or address or anything crazy like that. (well one thing crazy, and maybe we will talk about that later).

I didn't ask.
But he told me bits about how he got here.
That he used to be a newspaper writer.
And that he has been homeless for 7 years.
And told me that he has a facebook.
I whispered my secret dream of being a writer too.
I asked him a little about how it is and if people are nice to him and if the weather is warm enough.
He sang me a song about his life. Which had a little something for everyone alcohol, Jesus, women and dumpsters.
We laughed.
And not the awkward I'm not sure what to say laughs.
But real true laughs.
And we ate our bisquits.

And as I got up to leave, he thanked me and opened his arms for a hug.
He smelled of cigarettes and sleeping outside.
But I hugged him anyways.
I thanked him for one of the most real conversations I've had in months.

Even if his name really isn't Andrew.

Comments

Sarah said…
You inspire me. I love knowing someone as real and brave as you.

Popular posts from this blog

multiple choice

As I write I am procturing a test ( yes on a Saturday, and no I am not getting paid for it.) The room is silent. The only noises I hear are pencils scratching on papers and pages turning. If I listen closely enough I swear I can hear their brains turning. I have always been a good test-taker. I would still regularly brag about my SAT scores if it wre socially appropriate to do so(or an actual indicator of anything meaningful). There is something comforting about multiple choice. (well as long as you don't have the crappy all of the above or none of the above choices...just the classic A, B, C, D variety). There are parameters. Multiple choice means you have options. The right answer is right in front of you, and all you have to do is find it. Even if you don't actually know which one the right answer is there are usually clues, it can be narrowed down or worked backwards. Even a blind guess is likely to be right 25% of the time. These aren't bad odds. All you have t...

Turning the question

My school has been sending me to some inquiry training. The “i” word has been thrown around since my education classes in college. It is one of those things that is really good as a concept but kind of hard to pull off in the classroom well. For lots of reasons. But the big one number is because teachers are reluctant to let go of the control. To let the kids loose with a concept and see where they end up. Let them discover, own it and share out all on their own. Without intervening. Then push them a little bit further and clear up any misconceptions that they are holding onto before they slip out your door. This is supposed to be the most meaningful way for a kid to learn. For them to discover rather than memorize. One of the other problems with inquiry and science is that kids have stopped learning how to ask questions. My son bombards me with whys all day long. Why are owls nocturnal? (which comes out a lot more like “not-turtles”) Why do I have to take a shower? Why ...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...