Street Retreat

A man who likely hadn't showered in a month or so sits in a subway station corner of New York City, holding a sign telling a tale of being diagnosed with and dying of AIDS, homeless and without any possessions on him. A mid-40's businessman with a shiny black suitcase in one hand and a blackberry in the other swears, "get a job, you f***ing bum". If we hadn't been literally running for the subway, I would have given the man a dollar or two.

I truly learned a lesson about "hobo-phobia" not too long ago during a 3 day street retreat while in Toronto, possibly in your own neighborhood. 10 of us went in one vehicle to Toronto, singing and eating fast food along the way.

We met up with another group of people at a church downtown where we would be sleeping in the basement on the floor. Together, we made bag lunches consisting of sandwiches, juice boxes and other healthy treats. We then traveled by foot in the darkness to find any homeless persons who are willing to accept the meals. We made our way up to the Salvation Army shelter where I burst into tears. There were people stranded there who were willing to refuse any meals until other shelter residents had gotten theirs first. What really upset me is that we ended up not having enough bagged meals to feed those who wanted to wait.

The next day, we woke up at about 7a.m to go to a short mass before wandering Toronto again. We visited neighbor hoods which showed obvious contrast to other neighborhoods (wealthy vs middle class vs no class). One neighborhood had million dollar homes with beemers in the driveway, the other would have rundown houses with many bicycles in one driveway.

We split into two groups to go volunteer with two different volunteer-run organizations. My group went to St. Francis' Table, a restaurant which provides meals to those without certain resources. They allow patrons to keep their dignity by asking for a dollar but never turn a needy patron away without an offer of a good meal. We helped prepare the meals by peeling and slicing ingredients and later acted as waitresses and bus-people. Some people were so friendly and appreciative for our services.

On day three, we met a very special man named Patrick. Patrick took us around Toronto and spoke about his life story. His family consisted of drug addicts, his brother and his friends raped him repeatedly which caused him to start overdosing on medications his mother had been taking. This had all started when he was eleven years old. He had fled his hometown and made his way Toronto via the vehicles of complete strangers, not knowing if he'd make it to his destination alive. He asked us to picture an eleven year old we ourselves knew and to imagine them in a situation where they are in the streets with no one to care for them. I got choked up as I thought of my own cousin who had just turned eleven.

We then proceeded to the "gay" neighborhood and visited shelters where those of homosexuality had gone to escape the torment of homophobia.

We also visited the AIDS memorial where I was saddened to see that many of the people carved into the memorial were under the age of twenty.

Those three days changed my life and completely changed the way I look at the people I see in the streets. They're not all "lazy bums" who are too lazy to get a job. Many are decent people like you and me who just need a friendly, helping hand in getting them back on their feet again.