Monkey Business
Here we are on the eve of Christmas. I am writing this blog from the comforts of my warm bed and I cannot help but think about those who do not have a warm bed during this holiday season.
If you follow the blog, you may know that I have experienced homelessness intermittently throughout my life and so this is another social issue that I cannot ignore. In today’s blog, I would like to share with you a different perspective of homelessness.
The first time I saw a panhandler on the street I was heartbroken. I was in 3rd or 4th grade and I was visiting my older sister in Denver, Colorado. I had never seen anyone look so desperate on the sidewalk begging for money before.
I grew up in poverty and had stood in soup kitchen lines with the likes of the man who was asking for money so I figured he must be in dire straits. I immediately gave him all (five bucks) of my money. He looked surprised, kindly smiled and thanked me.
My sister, who was 12 years my elder, and in her early twenties at the time, looked concerned when she asked me why I was talking to him. I told her I gave him my money and she went and rudely took my money back and scolded the man. She said he should be ashamed of himself for taking money from a child.
I thought that was so mean. She told me she was certain he would use the money to buy drugs or alcohol and if I wanted to help people like him I should go to an organization whose mission it is to help the homeless.
Fast-forward at least a decade later and I am a young woman in Seattle. In a city known for its homeless population. I befriended a homeless man who would sell necklaces and bracelets simply made from a few beads and a strand of leather. I admired his hustle.
I bought one from him the first time I saw him, and then again each time I ran into him. I probably bought four or five. He could tell I wanted to purchase his products as a way to support him.
He began to ask me questions about myself. As many people usually are curious when they meet me, he asked about my ethnicity. He was excited that I was of Mexican descent and wanted to tell me how important it was for Mexicans and black people to understand our kinship in this world. He rattled off some biblical reference and went on to tell me how important it was for our races not to hurt each other and to treat each other as brothers and sisters.
He went on to explain that it is important for all races to treat each other as family; but that he felt our two particular races were being pitted against each other at a time when we should be supportive of each other. I heard every word he said and I appreciated his effort to encourage love and unity.
But as if to give himself the authority on the subject, he told me not to dismiss his knowledge as the ramblings of a poor homeless man. He said less than ten years earlier he was working in a leadership position in Time magazine’s own New York office.
He proudly told me about the accomplishments he made as a professional. He said that he hated every moment of that life and called business attire “monkey suits.” He said he tolerated the corporate life until his children were old enough to take care of themselves then he moved to Seattle to be “free.”
“Now businessmen look at me and throw me a few dollars out of pity,” he told me, “I thank them and have pity for them as well. Living a life chained to a desk is not living at all.”
He enlightened me to the very notion that someone would choose homelessness and actually feel free about it. I wanted to ask him so many more questions about his choice, but I only saw him in passing after that deep conversation.
I began to worry about him. At that time there was a surge in homicides among the homeless. I wonder what happened to him to this day. I hope that he continued to live as the free person he wanted to be.
I have carried our few conversations close to my heart and consciousness for all these years and sometimes I have found myself in my own “monkey suit” chained to a desk. No doubt when I started Paralegal Power Co. I was looking to break some chains.
Wherever this blog finds you this Christmas Eve, I hope it finds you feeling liberated about where and who you are.
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About the Author
Valentina Zapata Harris
Mother | Advocate | Blogger
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