My Secret Shame
Day 7: Walking in the shoes of the homeless and unemployed
Today was my day of enlightenment. While preparing a cover letter for another resume submission, I received a return call from the representative of the State House Public Records. I told her I was trying to find which legislators were champions for the homeless. She said that it was hard to find in that way because they do not have a list of representatives by the causes they support.
“You will have to go back a couple of years and search on any legislation dealing with…,” she hesitated and stammered, “…homelessness.”
She promised to walk me through the steps when I return tomorrow. Performing a quick category search, she found nothing under homelessness but did find ‘housing’. “That’s interesting,” she said. That is interesting.
I finished my cover letter and resume for a position in Newport and finally went home today! The revelation that flashed into my head when I crossed over into the city limits will change the trajectory of my life.
I know that the main reason for me being in the shelter—in this homeless situation—is for personal development, for acknowledging the whole of my truth. I have blocked out key moments in my childhood which tap danced around in my mind unrestrained as soon as I entered the free-flowing spirit energy of Newport.
My grandmother used to go with her neighborhood friend to collect food thrown out at restaurants and bakeries. Sometimes I would accompany them as they cruised the alleyways, picking up tightly wrapped pastries and breads sitting atop closed trash bins.
I blocked out the moment when I took a long swig of cold Kool-Aid only to find a roach floating belly up in it. I haven’t touched the stuff since.
I locked away the years of my grandmother bringing back the blocks of “government cheese” or standing in long lines to get the electric bill paid.
I’ve shoved the shopping expeditions to Dollar General for school clothes back into the deep corners of my memory and replaced them with Nordstrom sprees. I used to be so self-conscious of the smell as I knew someone would recognize its origin and rat me out.
The yearly trips to a church to pick out Christmas gifts have been covered by a blanket of trips through Europe.
When I graduated from college and left Houston in 2000, I was so determined to not return to that city, to certainly not return to that. I was embarrassed by it. My secret shame.
Authentic Strength
However, I must publicize it. Own it. Honor my grandmother for taking my mom, my three siblings and me in and helping us survive. She was surviving. She kept us from having to live on the street or from ever having to step foot in a shelter. Her actions took courage as did my mother’s for accepting the help.
My mother could have easily dropped the four of us stairsteps off at my grandmother’s and left in search of a better life—alone. But she didn’t. My grandmother could have likewise turned us away at the door citing the simple fact that she didn’t need the extra burden. But she didn’t. Neither one of these strong women behaved in such a selfish manner.
They both acted out of love and compassion for her children. It didn’t take as much strength for me to leave Houston with a job waiting for me in Phoenix as it did for my mother to return to her mother with four kids in tow because she didn’t have the money to make it on her own. It didn’t take as much strength for me to leave Phoenix for Europe with a bank full of money as it did for my grandmother and my mother to stay committed to providing us kids with a home—a family.
That was authentic strength. I honor them for that. I honor and give my deepest gratitude to them both. I only wish I had gained this insight while my grandmother was still alive.
Copyright © 2010 Sapphire Jule King and International Freedom Coalition