Well it's been over a month since I've posted. But I'm about to head home, so I figure it's about time to start writing down some of my experiences at the Los Angeles Catholic Worker.
The first time we went to serve beans on Wednesday night after mass, I met a lady who reminded me of my mother - about the same size and build. She looked like she might be a little bit younger, but she looked a lot more worn out. Yet she struck up a conversation with me and talked about how blessed she was. "Blessed?" I wanted to say. "You're living on Skid Row!" But her cheerfulness was unshakeable. She didn't have a home or a car, but waking up in the morning was a blessing for her.
The woman figured I was a student and asked me what I studied. "English," I told her. "Oh! I studied English too when I was in college!" she said. "Did you study English or American?" I told her I studied both. "Who was your favorite American author?" I didn't really have a favorite. "Mine was always Emily Dickinson" she told me. She must be smart if she liked Emily Dickinson. Dickinson's stuff can be pretty dense reading.
Later on when I realized that at the time I didn't want to have this conversation with a homeless woman. I am supposed to have conversations about what I studied in college with people who are successful teachers and leaders in the community, not people coming to get a meal on Skid Row. I guess I don't like to think that people who have the same background that I have can end up homeless. Maybe this is a way I unconsciously distance myself from the poor. The alumni magazine that my university sends out doesn't tell about the people who ended up sleeping on the streets. It wouldn't be good for PR even if these people were able and willing to tell their stories. But I suppose homelessness can happen to anyone.
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