So on Wednesday, I went with my mother and two other friends down to the St. Patrick's Center on Broadway in downtown St. Louis to serve and spend time with some homeless folks. St. Patrick's Center is a charity organization that is committed to offering self-sufficiency and dignity to people who are homeless. There are fairly strict rules for the facility: each client must perform jobs around the Center each night, individuals must be awake and out of the Center by 6 am, and after 90 days you have to leave for an extended period. Also, if you violate any of the strict codes of conduct (i.e. aggressive behavior, intoxication, flagrant disrespect towards the staff or facilities), you will be asked to leave. Mom has been going to St. Patrick's since mid-February, so she knows the place well and has made many friends. She really enjoys her time there, and it seems to have had a profound impact on her worldview. But going into this for the first time, I had no idea what to expect.
Upon entering, I was surprised to see how few men there actually were (this facility is for men only, there is a separate site for women and children). Apparently, a lot of guys signed up to be there that were not currently present. And when we got in, Mom basically said to go out and mingle. This put me a bit out of my comfort zone because this was my first time there, I knew none of the guys, there didn't seem to be any staff that were already engaging in conversation, and I really, really felt my race/class privilege showing (especially considering I was wearing my Vanderbilt t-shirt). But, I sucked it up, and started watching four guys playing Spades. I had no idea how it was played, but the guys helped explain all the rules to me in between plays. I moved around a little to talk to other guys. Some of the guys were playing chess, others intently watching TV, others taking turns at the telephone placing calls to family and friends. Some guys would talk to me, others sort of ignored me. I can't blame them, it was a little strange to just sit down and introduce myself. But most everyone was friendly and had a little bit to say. After a bit of that, dinner of bean soup, pineapple, crackers, and ham sandwiches was served. We really didn't need to help with the food; it was not a huge meal.
At this point, I noticed that the few volunteers that were down there before us were sort of sitting back in an office, away from the fellas. According to one of the more outgoing volunteers, some of their partners did not want to come out and make contact or even help serve dinner. This was really strange and a bit frustrating to me: if you didn't have any interest in offering help or friendship to these guys, then why come? I realize not everyone is great at being outgoing and friendly to complete strangers, but these guys were exceptionally nice for the most part (one guy even quipped "don't worry, you can sit down, we don't bite"). It didnt' help my frustration that most of the "hiders" were middle-aged, white women. Again, I don't want to assume anything, but something tells me it was a room full of suburbanites that were afraid a room full of homeless black men might do something bad... I don't really know, all I know is that I wished they had come out with us to enjoy in some conversation and fellowship...
Anyway, the highlight of my night was sitting and chatting with an older fellow named Charles. Our conversation started when I overheard him say, "Oh yeah, someone ought to write my biography." I asked him if he had any good stories. He said hell yes, he did. From there Charles told me about everything, from moving between Cape Girardeau/Detroit/St. Louis, to hating his stepmother as a child, to setting pins in a bowling alley, to his favorite blues musicians, to his love for drawing. Charles showed me some of his drawing he had done of pictures in magazines and people he had seen throughout the city. For a 77-year old man, I was impressed. He told me he had been drawing since he was four an a half when his sister bragged on him to his whole family about how good he could draw. Charles told me he had had almost every job there was, but if he could have just one now, it would be an artist. He had so much to tell me but his best advice may have been "Don't worry about too much. Worrying can't help nothing" That was comforting in that moment. I was surrounded by guys down on their luck, working two jobs trying to save up for a car, trying to put together broken pieces and stay off the street, but to be honest, they were some of the most genuine, considerate, and friendly people I have chatted with in a while. Although they may not have much or be where they want to be, they at least have the ability to laugh, talk, and feel a bit less lost in a world that would just rather stay away (or in the office) and not admit that these people are still people. I have been worrying so much lately about work, friends, school, moving... And in that conversation Charles showed me that worrying keeps us standing at a distance, when what we all really need is to let go, be bold, let the Spirit work through us, and we may just get what we need.
In a completely unrelated idea, I just read on the NPR Blog about video game spectators/commentators for Starcraft and other similar games???
Check it out. I watched a clip of a match, and I must say, it was actually quite addicting. I have always like watching video games! It's finally catching on... yes!
