Last week, I picked up my daughters and a friend from school, and as we made our usual stop at a taco truck on Westwood and Santa Monica Boulevards, Clare noticed a homeless man walking toward us. He was tall, with long, unkempt hair and an unbuttoned shirt that revealed red, blotchy skin. His trousers were rolled up to expose his purple-tinted ankles, and he wore loafers without socks.
Clare, who tends to be particularly anxious around the homeless population in Los Angeles, immediately wanted to retreat to the car. She’s more attuned to their unpredictability than the rest of us. I spotted him approaching and thought he might pass us by. I wanted to instill my late grandmother’s mantra in my daughters: “Be careful, but unafraid.”
However, as he drew nearer, I realized he was headed straight for us. My heart raced as I scanned him for any signs of danger, but he did not appear threatening. Comforted by the presence of others around us, I still felt a tightness in my chest. I knew I needed to take control of the situation.
I stepped forward to meet him. “Hello, sir. Are you hungry? Would you like me to buy you some lunch?” His face brightened with relief as he replied, “Yes, please, I’m really hungry.”
He quickly placed his order—a large beef burrito, two beef tacos, and a Coke. I relayed his request to the vendor, along with my own and my daughters’ orders. I then asked the girls to wait for me in the car. They hurried off, but I sensed Clare’s lingering concern for my safety.
As I stood beside the man, waiting for our food, an awkward silence settled between us. My body was on high alert while his mind seemed tangled in thoughts I couldn’t grasp. This exchange was not about forming a connection; it was a necessary transaction driven by need.
When I handed him his meal, he expressed his gratitude. “Thank you very much,” he said. “You’re welcome,” I replied, stepping back. With surprising dignity, he introduced himself. “My name is Peter.”
This revelation took me aback. As our eyes met, I saw a human being—a soul with a past. My throat tightened, and tears threatened to spill. I envisioned Peter as a newborn, filled with potential and dreams, and pondered the life events that led him to this moment. I was reminded of my own fortune and privilege.
In that fleeting moment, the recognition that we were both human, both deserving of respect, hit home. “My name is Sarah,” I replied. “Thank you, Sarah. Goodbye.” “Goodbye, Peter,” I said as he walked away with purpose.
I turned to find my daughters watching from the car, their faces pressed against the window like uncut flowers absorbing the moment.
This encounter stripped away my usual ambitions and pride, grounding me in a profound truth: what truly matters is how we treat one another. It’s a lesson that resonates deeply, especially when we think about the relationships in our lives.
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Summary:
This reflection on an encounter with a homeless man named Peter serves as a poignant reminder of our shared humanity. It highlights the importance of empathy and respectful interaction, especially in moments that challenge our comfort zones.
Keyphrase: Homelessness and Humanity
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