I found this sign in the garbage on my way to work. I saw it peaking out amid other rubbish and went over to uncover it. I knew what it was because I had seen it before in the hands of its former owner while I was walking by.
Every morning I see homeless veterans on my walk to work. They stand between lanes of traffic holding signs and hoping to be seen and offered help. To see them fills me with a mix of anxiety, remorse, sadness, and embarrassment because I lack the courage to look them in the eye and speak with them.
When I saw the sign jutting out of the trash, I was drawn to it because I would finally be able to read what it said. I took the corner in my hand, shook off the surrounding refuse and unfolded and extended it up so I could read it.
I wasn't surprised by what it said, but for some reason I was relieved to have finally read what the man had put on the sign.
It is a difficult thing is to consider the plight of the homeless, how to offer them help. Thoughts against action will cross a mind.
What's he really gonna use this money for?
Giving a few dollars couldn't hurt but will that really help him? Will he spend it on food?
He seems harmless but what if it's too difficult to get involved?
I won't tell you that I know the answer to any of those questions, and there are enough homeless people that there is a basis for concern -- much slimmer possibility of a threat than a fearful mind would admit, but it is very difficult to wrestle with these morals in real time and they often lead to plainly ignoring the person who is asking for help. I guess it's one of those things that is actually simple and yet complicated by fear, muddied up by enough of the unknown to ever be easy.
But yesterday I had a more simple revelation while I was walking back from work. I saw a veteran standing at the intersection where I usually cross. I walked out and stood near him while I waited for the walk signal. He held his sign facing traffic, with his back turned to me.
There came a tour bus with families peaking eagerly out the window to absorb the sight and sounds of the city. When the bus had pulled to a stop, the homeless man was suddenly overcome with shame. He hid his face in his sign so neither could be read.
He was almost contorted as he stood there, probably wishing he was somewhere else. And I was there with him, transfixed. I was captured by a moment where I could look upon him, but he couldn't bare to see me or anyone else. It was a role reversal of sorts.
Even as I received the signal to walk I watched him, and my eyes were locked on as I rounded the corner of the block until he was out of sight. The whole time he never changed composure. He remained huddled down, his head buried below his shoulders, his eyes were pinched closed. His expression was one of agony.
In that moment I was convinced that the thing he needed most, more than money, food, or shelter, was simply to be seen.
I wanted to share this story at the risk of exposing my ignorance and fear because I don't feel that my own conscience is much different than anyone else's. The title of this diary was inspired by John Edwards' message on behalf of poverty and homeless veterans.
I thought of that message as while walking home. With so many American veterans being remembered today, I guess what I would encourage is for people to not be consumed by guilt or fear or suspicion, not to despair. We are individuals with limitations on what we can do to help. But before any assistance can even be offered, any policy enacted, any gesture of care be extended we must see these people, and they should hear our message: "We see you."