Today it’s cold and it’s rainy and generally unpleasant outside, which on any other Friday would be a downer, but since it’s Halloween, it feels perfect. I guess those are my Midwest roots shining through.
This afternoon we’re having a small Halloween party for the staff, transitional employees and volunteers. I’m dressing as a construction worker. The costume is not well crafted or clever; it’s actually fairly pathetic. I’m wearing jeans, hiking boots, a t-shirt, aviators and an orange construction vest that I found in my closet when I moved in. What can I say? I’m living simply.
Yesterday I jokingly asked one of the guys in the men’s center if he planned on dressing up for Halloween. He laughed and he stroked his beard for a couple of seconds and said, “No, but I think I will go trick-or-treating. What time do the kids go out these days?”
I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but I decided to let him make his own call on that one. So here’s to hoping he gets plenty of good things to eat and not picked up by the cops!
On the subject of costumes, on some days I feel as though I’ve come to work dressed as Superman. Similar to when Clark Kent takes off his glasses and no one recognizes him, when I put on my SVdP badge the guys suddenly think that I’m capable of anything. And while it’s flattering, it’s also occasionally overwhelming.
A week or two ago one guy came into the center and he wanted me to get him a job. He told me about how he’d been fired and how he has a wife and two kids that he needs to support. I referred him inside to the job center at SVdP, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted me to find him a job, but not just any job, a job in Texas. I eventually found him the numbers of a few job agencies in Houston and convinced him to go inside to the job center and see what they could do for him, and I casually said I would let him know if I heard of any other leads.
I should be more careful with my words. He came back into the center, looking understandably tired and disgruntled, and he asked me if I’d found him anything. I shook my head and apologized and then asked how things went over in the job center. He said they hadn’t found him anything either and looked away. A minute later he asked if I wanted to play cards. I wasn’t really in the mood, but I figured it was the least I could do and said “sure.”
As the word was still rolling off my tongue, stuck in between my teeth, he stood up from his seat and, before storming out, he angrily said, “Man, forget you. You don’t care about anyone. You just want to play cards. You don’t want to help me out--I’ve got kids, man!”
That was a trick question, certainly not a treat, though.
I felt bad, I really did, and I wished that I could’ve done more. But the truth is, in most cases I really can’t. On most days I have enough trouble making sure we have clean towels, enough soap, shampoo, a hot pot of coffee and an appropriate movie to put on the television.
Taking satisfaction in the small strides and little victories is something I’ve touched on before, but it’s something that I have to constantly remind myself of. When I can get a guy a clean pair of socks and underwear--that is a small step. And when, like earlier this month, I can call around and get one of our clients into a rehabilitation center--that is a major victory, and one that needs to be appreciated, because they are few and far between.
“You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.” -Anne Lamott
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
A Clean Slate.
A major perk of working in the men’s center is that I’m allowed to wear jeans most every day. However, last Friday morning I woke up bright and early and pressed a nice pair of khakis and a white dress shirt and even threw a tie in my backpack—that afternoon I was hopping on the Bart and heading over to Berkeley for the October Homeless Court date.
But first, I had to spend the morning in the men’s center. Things were going smoothly, I finished up a bit of paperwork and checked my e-mail and decided to get a cup of coffee when a couple of guys got into a bit of an argument. I walked over and told them to break things up, that they couldn’t fight in the men’s center. The arguing quickly stopped and one of the men decided to leave the center. I was feeling good, thinking maybe I should dress nicer more often, that it gave me an added amount of authority.
My arms were beginning to tire from patting myself on the back for the way I handled the situation. And then it happened, the guy who decided to leave the men’s center decided that maybe he should come back into the men’s center and continue the argument. I will spare the details and jump to the climax of the story—it ends with me covered in coffee.
I’m pretty certain part of the story also involves me shrieking like a little girl, but that’s not really important. After things settled down and I cleaned up, the rest of the morning turned into the “roast of Ryan Want,” albeit not a very good one. “So, are you drinking your coffee or wearing it?!?!?!?!” was the joke I heard about ten times from ten different guys.
After biking home and changing, I finally arrived at the Berkeley Food and Housing and took a seat in the back as I waited for the session to start. In August I was able to catch the very tail-end of a court session, but this was my first chance to see the process with clients I had worked with and helped through the process. The sessions are held outside of an actual courtroom to create a more relaxed environment for the clients, though the process is very official, complete with a judge, district attorney, public defender and two clerks.
Judge Gordon Baranco addressed those in attendance and thanked them for participating in the program, reassured them that nobody would be arrested and emphasized that it was a one-time opportunity to clear their records and fines and that they really needed to learn from the experience.
It was an intriguing process to witness, listening to the public defender read the clients’ stories of addiction and recovery and personal growth. After each of my clients had their cases heard, all with positive outcomes, I spent a few minutes outside talking with them individually. One woman was in tears and gave me a big hug. Another guy who had fines in excess of $5,000 cleared kept insisting that he really had taken care of the fine from his 1987 D.U.I.
The emotional reactions varied from client to client, but on each one of their faces you could see the undeniable sense of relief that comes with a clean slate.
On a less important note, the coffee stains on my white dress shirt weren’t completely expunged after the first washing, but I'll give it another shot in about two weeks when I can once again afford to do laundry.
But first, I had to spend the morning in the men’s center. Things were going smoothly, I finished up a bit of paperwork and checked my e-mail and decided to get a cup of coffee when a couple of guys got into a bit of an argument. I walked over and told them to break things up, that they couldn’t fight in the men’s center. The arguing quickly stopped and one of the men decided to leave the center. I was feeling good, thinking maybe I should dress nicer more often, that it gave me an added amount of authority.
My arms were beginning to tire from patting myself on the back for the way I handled the situation. And then it happened, the guy who decided to leave the men’s center decided that maybe he should come back into the men’s center and continue the argument. I will spare the details and jump to the climax of the story—it ends with me covered in coffee.
I’m pretty certain part of the story also involves me shrieking like a little girl, but that’s not really important. After things settled down and I cleaned up, the rest of the morning turned into the “roast of Ryan Want,” albeit not a very good one. “So, are you drinking your coffee or wearing it?!?!?!?!” was the joke I heard about ten times from ten different guys.
After biking home and changing, I finally arrived at the Berkeley Food and Housing and took a seat in the back as I waited for the session to start. In August I was able to catch the very tail-end of a court session, but this was my first chance to see the process with clients I had worked with and helped through the process. The sessions are held outside of an actual courtroom to create a more relaxed environment for the clients, though the process is very official, complete with a judge, district attorney, public defender and two clerks.
Judge Gordon Baranco addressed those in attendance and thanked them for participating in the program, reassured them that nobody would be arrested and emphasized that it was a one-time opportunity to clear their records and fines and that they really needed to learn from the experience.
It was an intriguing process to witness, listening to the public defender read the clients’ stories of addiction and recovery and personal growth. After each of my clients had their cases heard, all with positive outcomes, I spent a few minutes outside talking with them individually. One woman was in tears and gave me a big hug. Another guy who had fines in excess of $5,000 cleared kept insisting that he really had taken care of the fine from his 1987 D.U.I.
The emotional reactions varied from client to client, but on each one of their faces you could see the undeniable sense of relief that comes with a clean slate.
On a less important note, the coffee stains on my white dress shirt weren’t completely expunged after the first washing, but I'll give it another shot in about two weeks when I can once again afford to do laundry.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
JVC Fall Retreat
Last weekend I went down to Colby Ranch, about an hour north of Los Angeles, for the JVC fall retreat. It was cold and fairly miserable and in the middle of nowhere without any cell phone reception, both of which the JVC staff failed to warn us about. Not exactly the sunny southern California weather I’d been hoping for—it was more like a not so beautiful version of Colorado.
Now that I have that out of my system, I will say that it was nice to get away from Oakland for a couple of days and have some time to reflect. One of the activities was a guided meditation followed by some pseudo-psycho-mumbo-jumbo molding of clay, I’m not quite sure. Many people made leaves, trees, bridges, waves and all different kinds of elaborate very artistic sculptures, but I decided to shape a clay sphere—partially because I wasn’t overly enthused about the activity, but not entirely.
It has been just over two months since starting JVC, and like the transformation from a block of clay into a sphere, the transformation has been slow and subtle. The way I view my interactions and place in the world has shifted and certainly the way I look at homelessness and other marginalized-populations has changed as well. This is not to say I have become a great person, because I haven’t. I still like to make too many generalized, sweeping, often offensive comments, and that probably won't change, but perhaps they’re now done with more thought and compassion.
One entry in Christian Lander’s popular blog, “Stuff White People Like,” is:
#62, "Knowing What's Best for Poor People." ("It is a poorly guarded secret that, deep down, white people believe that if given money and education that all poor people would be EXACTLY like them.")
In an interview that appeared in the East Bay Express Lander said, "That's kind of ridiculously condescending and unfair, but that was absolutely the way I thought. And I still do."
Lander’s comments are intentionally outrageous but also somewhat true, and the idea of recent college graduates with little experience helping the homeless, mentally ill, abused, etc. is equally absurd at best. It is also beautiful, naïve, refreshing and something the world needs more of.
The ball of clay also represented not dwelling upon what could have been, or how things should have been, but coming to peace with the reality of a situation.
Talking with many other JV’s at retreat there was often a sense of disappointment, that things were harder or less exciting and meaningful than they had hoped. It was the realization that we don’t have all the answers and that change is slow and plodding and dirty and tiring and doesn’t happen overnight. Change starts with a load of laundry, a shower, a hygiene kit and conversation over a cup of coffee.
"The mysterious route of faith and love that led Peter and Paul from their native land to Jerusalem, then to other parts of the world, and finally to Rome, is a model of the journey that every Christian is called to accomplish to witness to Christ in the world."
-Pope John Paul II
Now that I have that out of my system, I will say that it was nice to get away from Oakland for a couple of days and have some time to reflect. One of the activities was a guided meditation followed by some pseudo-psycho-mumbo-jumbo molding of clay, I’m not quite sure. Many people made leaves, trees, bridges, waves and all different kinds of elaborate very artistic sculptures, but I decided to shape a clay sphere—partially because I wasn’t overly enthused about the activity, but not entirely.
It has been just over two months since starting JVC, and like the transformation from a block of clay into a sphere, the transformation has been slow and subtle. The way I view my interactions and place in the world has shifted and certainly the way I look at homelessness and other marginalized-populations has changed as well. This is not to say I have become a great person, because I haven’t. I still like to make too many generalized, sweeping, often offensive comments, and that probably won't change, but perhaps they’re now done with more thought and compassion.
One entry in Christian Lander’s popular blog, “Stuff White People Like,” is:
#62, "Knowing What's Best for Poor People." ("It is a poorly guarded secret that, deep down, white people believe that if given money and education that all poor people would be EXACTLY like them.")
In an interview that appeared in the East Bay Express Lander said, "That's kind of ridiculously condescending and unfair, but that was absolutely the way I thought. And I still do."
Lander’s comments are intentionally outrageous but also somewhat true, and the idea of recent college graduates with little experience helping the homeless, mentally ill, abused, etc. is equally absurd at best. It is also beautiful, naïve, refreshing and something the world needs more of.
The ball of clay also represented not dwelling upon what could have been, or how things should have been, but coming to peace with the reality of a situation.
Talking with many other JV’s at retreat there was often a sense of disappointment, that things were harder or less exciting and meaningful than they had hoped. It was the realization that we don’t have all the answers and that change is slow and plodding and dirty and tiring and doesn’t happen overnight. Change starts with a load of laundry, a shower, a hygiene kit and conversation over a cup of coffee.
"The mysterious route of faith and love that led Peter and Paul from their native land to Jerusalem, then to other parts of the world, and finally to Rome, is a model of the journey that every Christian is called to accomplish to witness to Christ in the world."
-Pope John Paul II
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
The Sweet Science.
Today in the men’s center we watched Resurrecting the Champ. It tells the story of a young sports writer at the fictional Denver Times who is eager to make a name for himself and jumps at the chance to write a feature on a former boxing champ that most believed died 20 years prior, but who he “discovers” living on the Denver streets. However, in his excitement, he is careless and neglects to do some basic background checking that would have easily shown that the homeless man was an imposter and that the real champ had indeed been dead for 20 years.
It is far from a great movie, yet it’s strangely compelling. It’s a movie about struggle and passion and the dangers and misguided beauty in attempting to be more than you really are.
As the movie played it was interesting to hear some of the guys talk about Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and other boxing greats and see the way they reacted to the movie’s fight scenes.
The movie ends with a voice-over of the young sports reporter at his desk in a dark room pounding away at his computer, owning up to his mistakes, and he says something to the effect that in boxing, like writing, one must stand alone--there is no place hide.
Boxing like no other sport turns impoverished men into gods and just as quickly throws them back on the street as soon as every ounce of value has been extracted. And if the guys in the men’s center can’t relate to the highs of a heavyweight-champion, they can certainly relate to the lows that follow. It is no wonder that writers such as Ernest Hemingway, Norman Mailer and Joyce Carol Oates have been compelled to write about the sport—it is life heightened and accentuated. One man loses. One man is exalted in victory. Both are bloodied and battered and will ultimately pay a price—physically and mentally—that few can fully comprehend.
Many argue that boxing is barbaric and has no place in a civilized society, which is probably true, I myself am no great fan, but never the less, it is a metaphor we should strive for every single day of our lives. It is the end of deception and the illumination of truth. When a fighter is knocked out cold on the mat, there is no longer doubt regarding who’s the better man. It’s the honesty we need when examining our work, interactions with friends, relationships with family and commitment to living out our faith.
“Christianity is not a theory or speculation, but a life; not a philosophy of life, but a life and a living process.” -Samuel Taylor Coleridge
It is far from a great movie, yet it’s strangely compelling. It’s a movie about struggle and passion and the dangers and misguided beauty in attempting to be more than you really are.
As the movie played it was interesting to hear some of the guys talk about Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano and other boxing greats and see the way they reacted to the movie’s fight scenes.
The movie ends with a voice-over of the young sports reporter at his desk in a dark room pounding away at his computer, owning up to his mistakes, and he says something to the effect that in boxing, like writing, one must stand alone--there is no place hide.
Boxing like no other sport turns impoverished men into gods and just as quickly throws them back on the street as soon as every ounce of value has been extracted. And if the guys in the men’s center can’t relate to the highs of a heavyweight-champion, they can certainly relate to the lows that follow. It is no wonder that writers such as Ernest Hemingway, Norman Mailer and Joyce Carol Oates have been compelled to write about the sport—it is life heightened and accentuated. One man loses. One man is exalted in victory. Both are bloodied and battered and will ultimately pay a price—physically and mentally—that few can fully comprehend.
Many argue that boxing is barbaric and has no place in a civilized society, which is probably true, I myself am no great fan, but never the less, it is a metaphor we should strive for every single day of our lives. It is the end of deception and the illumination of truth. When a fighter is knocked out cold on the mat, there is no longer doubt regarding who’s the better man. It’s the honesty we need when examining our work, interactions with friends, relationships with family and commitment to living out our faith.
“Christianity is not a theory or speculation, but a life; not a philosophy of life, but a life and a living process.” -Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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