A different Christmas story: The other day we were getting our apartment ready for inspection from the apartment authorities. In Section 8 housing this happens every few months. The last one was dodged by 14 year old who went to her fathers to hide out. This time, shes been here and managed to clutter both her bedroom and the living room with her ever expanding junk that she refuses to organize or even clean. We tried everything- bribery, threats and the cessation of privelges, pleading- all to know avail. The night before, after Sofie went to bed, we had yet another talk with her. This was at the end of a long day where I put in and eight hour day to come home and clean for the rest of it. I cleaned the bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom while my wife worked on other rooms. The mess in Rhiannons room and the living room had not been touched. She had resolutely ignored cleaning, even as her friends were helping us clean the house. It was some weird source of defience for her. We yet again tried everything on to have everything thrown back at us. She couldnt be bothered. When we mentioned that if we didnt pass inspection we could lose the apartment, well that was just too bad. She could always live at her fathers. This was the last straw. We werent playing that game. Too many nights had been spent listening to her telling us about how bad it was at her dad, teary eyed, for us to have it tossed in our faces. She was the perfect teenage martyr. I began by saying if she wanted to nail herself to a cross, do it another day, it was crunch time. Her mom even offered to help her find the wood. What happened next was an outpouring of sadness, hurt and betrayal that shot out of my wife in rivelets of tired pain that had been held inside her for awhile. We wound up talking about Christmas and she gave a different account of the one I posted that Christmas. So I am setting a more honest appraisal. When I was homeless, I called it the year without a holiday. There are no holidays in while your homeless. She was in the shelter and I was doing something call rotation, a holdover from the preshelter days. They took about twenty five of the best behaved street denizens and put us in a program to go stay each week at a different local church. It was a better situation than the warming center where you had to wait outside until 9 and then check in and find a spot on the floor. The rotation folk checked in at six thirty, usually, and would be car pooled to the church that was hosting us that week. The church system was better in that they tended to treat us as guests and would sometimes provide meals and snacks, some entertainment and all night coffee(coffee is a homeless persons best friend). But the rules were about the same- lights out at ten, up at six. Youre sick, youre tired- sorry but tough luck. We were always on a schedule and our days were spent in content movement. Me, I was always at the library, posting a lot but there because I was always sending out job apps. I mustve have applied to every buisness out here twice and when I got bored, you would get a report from the street. The shelter folk were moved to the first floor at by seven so that the upper rooms could be cleaned. Then about eight they were allowed to go back upstairs to go through the endless round of meetings and appointments to get you back on your feet. It wasnt easy being homeless, they made you feel like a gerbil on a round track-ever moving, ever going from place to another. It was as if they didnt have any better answers than you did, but if they kept you moving, you were to tired to ask questions. Like a cult. We were always tired. We were always in self doubt. We really couldnt move very far because all the resources we had to get anywhere were concentrated in that spot. It was like prison with a bigger execise yard. Last Christmas we didnt have a lot of money. Most of what we did have we spent on the kids to make sure they got something for the holidays. On us, I got her a cheap engagement ring and a DVD(The Family Stone) and she got me a book and a pocket watch. Not exactly the gift of the Magi(and O. Henry reference) but quite modest. That Christmas morning, I awoke in a synogogue. The Jewish temple took us for the holiday week and they were an Orthodox\liberal temple. No food could be brought in from outside for fear of defiling their temple. This was put into place after one year a man innocently stored a ham sandwhich in their refridgerator, causing much hand ringing and the junking of that refridgerator. Though we couldnt bring in food, they also didnt feel much obligation to provide any. Every night we would come to bannanas that had been sliced into fifths and some crackers, exactly counted out so we could each get one. I just gave up even trying on that and would go straight to bed, That morning, one of the parishionors(?) provides some Kosher candy for us to eat in their and we were most grateful. At seven we were dropped off at the breakfast church for our Christmas braekfast that was no different than any other day. They had done up a spread a couple of days before for us but this was Christmas and it was bare bones. Most people were with their families(as they should have been). I took some fruit and dessert with me and headed to the shelter to see my fiancee. Now the meal they provided was under any other circumstances, fine. Every day for months, however, made one dream of fried eggs and omelettes. When I got to the shelter, Julia was there at one of the downstairs tables that served as the cafeteria. We were under a cold front so the downstairs was open to all. Most days, I wouldnt be allowed in there as I wasnt part of the official shelter roster. I was just homeless. But when the temp dipped below 12 degrees, the warming shelter was open. I hated holidays at that time. i hadnt really had one in a couple of years. In truth, the only thing a holiday meant to me was a day when everything was closed and I had to fend for myself until the six thirty sign in. With no family, theyd become a nuiscense. After the exchange of gifts, we were just killing time. I read to her from a book Lamb(by Chris Moore) and we made the best of a bad day. While her children were at her relatives having Christmas, she was sitting with all the rejects for the holidays. The churches that were hosting parties were all in Ypsi, where we couldnt get to. We didnt know at the time our fortunes would change soon. Id proposed but it was still to to me who had a dicey future at best. i had no prospects. At this point I was considered chronically homeless. Isnt that nice? Now I was a disease. All in fact I was, was jobless which made me homeless. Its hard to feel good when after all that time you have nothing to add to the relationship except your poverty. I felt I was taking advantage of her, at the time. Giving her a no future future. I concealed a lot of self doubt. With her, shed recieved a gift package from the shelter filled with tolietries and small things, like socks. She was very grateful for that. The sting of that day still haunted her as it used to me. A holiday spent in Purgatory spent away from people you grew up with and called family only to have them betray and dismiss you when you were in trouble. And if you cant understand this, wait until it happens to you. She went through the shelter for eleven months so she could get housing for her and her children and start a new life. For that she was stigmatized by her own family. Looked down upon. The day went like every other day. It whole ordinariness and mediocrity hurt even more. Someone was celebrating family and the joy of giving and we were treating this as just another kick in the head. All this rolled out in waves of angry ,bitter, tears to Rhi and, to her credit, though she stood stonily listening to this outpouring. She did listen. this was not of a distent past by of a recent one and it hurt all the more for it. I dont know if any of this made an impression on her. I just hope it did.
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 14:55:54 +0000
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