Apprehension to Pride

Apprehension shivers through the body when someone is instantly thrown into re-evaluation of all of his or her values. It was such a foreign feeling to step out of the van on to the ice covered downtown sidewalk where many homeless stood waiting for their dinners. Should I make eye contact or should I not? Surely I should smile if I do make eye contact whether on purpose or not because that is how I would treat any other person I pass on the street. If I attempt to make eye contact though - wont it be obvious and then they might think I pity them and if I do pity them, is it offensive or compassionate? So many questions and thoughts dart through mind even before we make it through the front door of the decrepit building.

Once we make it inside the surprisingly clean building, the brain experiences stimulus overload. Too many people, objects, and actions occurring at the same time to observe them all. The homeless blend in well with the workers so it's very difficult to figure out who to talk to. Throw in the fact that there is a rehab program with its members working in this small area as well, it becomes nearly impossible. So we go for the safe bet, wait for the man behind the counter right inside the front door to look up from his papers and ask him. A couple minutes later, once the man at the counter finds us important enough or perhaps distracting enough to address, he points us to a nicely dressed, smiling woman who is sitting in a folding chair near the food. In between a conversation she is having with several scattered people, a funny one it seems, she directs us to an older gentleman who is actually standing with the food.

The older man begins to tell us the different duties and explains to me how they call the people up to the line. When I look into his face as he speaks, I can't help but be reminded of my grandpa because of the slow, precise way he speaks. His sock-hat with a bill also helps this persona since my grandpa wears similar hats. He tells me that the handicap are called up first to get food, then the few women that are present, men who are 60 years old or older, and then they start releasing the rest of the men row by row from the benches. Although he tells me all of this at the beginning, he takes it upon himself to keep my updated as each group passes through the line.

Before anyone is called up to the line for food, I am quickly distracted by a small, old, Native American woman that shuffles in the door alone with a small cart of random objects. She keeps her head down and is almost swallowed whole by the strikingly white, fluffy coat she is wearing. Nevertheless, she is unmistakeably Native American - dark, flat face with shadowy grey eyes; her silvery black hair coiled, zigzag-pinned to the back of her head. I notice that she has a deep indentation across the bridge of her nose as if she has been hit with something. I can't help but wonder what happened to her and how she ended up here.

It shocks me how many people get in line when the handicap are called up. I start to wonder if I misinterpreted which group was up but when I ask the man behind the food counter with us, he reassures me that all of them are handicap. A lot of the people seem to be pretty healthy so I became curious as to how they determine who is handicap.

Most of the people that come through the serving line are quite friendly saying hello and asking how the day was going. Very few people act that way in normal situations so I almost swell up with pride for being around such friendly, caring people - as cheesy as that may sound. One man blesses me for coming down to help out. My cheeks fill with blood a bit for being blessed for doing something so simple as filling up water cups.

I'm astonished by how smoothly the lines of people come through. There is an incident of someone not waiting his turn sporadically but for the most part, everyone cooperates even if they are in the last row. It was also nice to see a community type feeling inside the building. There were definitely outsiders scattered throughout but a lot of people new each other. If twisted into a different light perhaps, it almost gave a "awkward family reunion" vibe to the meal. This friendly vibe is reinforced when an older man comes up with a sketch he has been drawing of me all evening and asks to see what color my eyes are so he can finish it and give it to me. They call him Picasso. Perhaps I will bring Picasso more art supplies on my next visit...



Random details:
-lots of different crazy hats
-everyone was surprisingly clean
-almost everyone had heavy, warm coats
-about 95% African American I think
-only a handful were women