Change

Yesterday I shook hands with a homeless man. His name was Grant, and he was sitting out the front of a shopping mall, head down, dog beside him, and a sign which said hard times had come and every bit of change counted.

Call me childishly innocent, but once I see people like that I can’t get them out of my mind. I’ve been sheltered from the scary scratch-to-make-a-living world. I knew about these things; I’ve read books about people who are homeless, addicted, or abused. I know it’s reality, but it’s never been real to me.

I remember the first time I saw someone’s makeshift bed up an alley. I looked twice before I realised. That’s someone’s bed. That’s where they sleep. That’s where they live. Something out of the storybooks was in front of me, and I had to realise it was all nonfiction. I can still picture it now. 

Back to yesterday: my mum had to go to the city, and I decided to go along and do some busking while she was busy. She dropped me off in the city centre, and I started walking through malls and along streets of shops looking for a place to set up. I went down a street, and the first thing I noticed was a bright purple blanket, laid out to the footpath. It had something underneath it, and at first I thought someone was lying there, but when I got closer, I saw it was a sleeping bag.

A man shuffled past me, and stopped. He was dirty and unkempt, and he had a cheap bag over shoulder. He pulled the bag off, and got out a pair of scuff-like shoes, which he put on and kept walking in the frosty morning air. 

I went through a mall, and that’s when I saw this man sitting with his piece of cardboard in front of him. People were rushing past, pretending he wasn’t there. I couldn’t get him out of my head; I wanted to give him something, but most of all I wanted to talk to him, to understand, if that were possible.

I went and busked for a while, and came back with what I’d made. He was still sitting there. I joined the flow of foot traffic, and walked right past him into the next mall. Why was it so hard to approach this man, a human being just like me? Why was I worried what people would think of me?

When I went over to him and emptied out the bag with the small amount I had, he thanked me profusely. Now what? I wanted to help him yes, but I wanted connection. I wanted to know what life was like for people like him. So I asked, and he told me. He told me how it started when he was thirteen, and struggles he’s had with his family, and how he has health problems now. He told me he was more fortunate than most because he had a car and his driver’s license. He told me he doesn’t drink or do drugs, and how he helped a few other homeless people out that morning and told them where they could get help. He told me he was a Christian and his faith in God helped him through. In the end, he asked my name and extended his hand.

I went back to my spot and busked some more, but things were different. My stereotypes were shattered. I played on, and observed from his perspective, from their perspective. I was a person on the street, and I was ‘asking’ for money. I saw how people ignored, pretended I wasn’t there – or noticed but didn’t acknowledge except by glancing at my case to see how much I’d collected. I watched the kids stare and the parents make sure they kept moving. I’ve had it before, but I realised what it would be like if I were sitting instead of playing, had a cardboard sign instead of an open case. I would be inferior, not worth a glance: too familiar to have any impact.

Again, this is new to me. I’m not desensitized. I still see people, and I want to stay that way. I don’t want to be one of the crowd. I don’t want to be so consumed by materialism I forget people are people, just like me, just like you. 

But there are redeeming factors. Parents gave their kids some coins to put it in my case. A lady told me it was a beautiful song. People smiled. A man said he’d give me something except he was broke. A dad said to his kids while I was setting up ‘that lady’s going to play some music.’ The connection made it worth it. The smallest smile kept me playing. The kids’ curiosity made me happy inside. 

So I’m only asking one thing of myself and of you: next time, be that redeeming factor.