Last week during Saturday outreach we didn’t meet a single soul. It was a beautiful day outside, and despite almost getting into a massive arguement with a FNB volunteer, we had little contact with anyone. (Let me back up and say I completely admire and support the FNB presence in Atlanta. They serve nutritious meals and provide tables full of information about resources for the homeless, including StandUp For Kids. The volunteers we spoke with were very freindly and supportive, minus one man who barraded me with politically motivated questions about what to do with the homeless, and to keep it short, we clearly have different ideas about what works and what we owe the homeless. I didn’t engage him the way my fiery spirit would have liked, but I was representing StandUp For Kids.)
That’s the problem with street outreach. Sometimes you meet so many kids you can’t keep count, other times you don’t meet anyone. There is no formula to figure out when or how to meet people, it’s just the chaotic nature of the human spirit I guess. Street outreach can be isolating for this reason.
This week, I deperately missed the kids. I was exhausted, emotionally drained and fairly brain dead, but I just missed the energy and love and laughter and pain and heartbreaking reality of the center, who our kids are. Lots of hugs were given, recieved. Some personal things we’re heavy on me, but they lightened in the kids’ arms.
I spent most of my time talking to Egor and working the clothing closet. Egor thinks I am too skinny, he hates the way I smell and wants to take me on a date. He didn’t want to talk about himself and sometimes you have to honor that. I explained to him that volunteers can’t go on dates with kids in the center, and he told me it wasn’t a ‘date date. just like a friend date’. I like Egor, he’s one of our most intelligent kids and one of our most hard up, literally living on the sidewalks. But I can’t just hang out with him; it breaks our rules. Rules are there for reason, to protect the kids and the volunteers. But everytime I explain why I can’t hang out with them outside of our center, it feels like I am building walls between us. walls I work hard to break down. I am an affluent volunteer, you are homeless kid. I can only see you for three hours a week. Imagine if a good friend or your mother or your sister or your boyfriend put limits around how and when you spend time together. It hurts.
And, to quote my songwriting hero Morrissey, let me dial a cliche here. StandUp For Kids is undoubtly a family. We have all the unconditional love, dysfunction, humor, committment and character of a true family.
Sorry, dear readers, whoever you are and wherever you are, for a most disjointed and less-than-stellarly written entry. I anticipate more intriguing posts (much less about me, more about our kids) in the future. Sometimes, no matter how much you give, you just can’t see past yourself. I am in one of those modes. It won’t last long.
