06 Oct Why the homeless rejected me

I’ve been waiting for a while to write this post, but feel unsure about many of the things I’m going to write about. As mentioned in our “About Us” page, I had a very easy upbringing. I come from a loving, middle class family, with a dad who is a professor at Penn State, and a professional baker as a mom. They provided us with food, clothing, taught us about life and how to be successful, encouraged us to play sports and to excel academically. College was something we were strongly encouraged to complete (especially with my dad as a professor), and as long as we were willing to study, they were willing to help monetarily. Living in Downtown Seattle has given me a brand new perspective on life and the different ways that people choose to live their own lives. Before moving to P², I was always outspoken regarding my opinion towards the homeless. I had absolutely no sympathy towards any of them as individuals, and lumped them together as a group that was lazy and chose not to do anything to make their situation better. I begrudged them for asking me for money that I work very hard to make, and couldn’t understand why they would stick around Seattle, where even if they made money, it would be a very expensive place to live. While The Husband understands the homeless situation in Seattle, he feels that nothing should be given for free. Most of the homeless, even those with mental disabilities, have a service they can provide; if they receive a place to stay or food to eat, why can’t they do something to help improve the neighborhood (like pick up trash and cigarette butts left on the streets). As soon as we moved to P², however, some of my preconceived notions and judgments started to change a little. I started passing them on the street, saying hello, and getting hit on (see previous post “what single guys could learn from the homeless”). In general, the comments were funny, rarely crude, and if I ever needed help carrying something, there was always someone popping up, willing to give me a hand. With all of these thoughts in my head, I headed down to Occidental Square one sunny day to try and “interview” some of the homeless guys down there. I had my camera, my video camera, and a list of questions that I had agonized over. I was so nervous – even though I was determined to be non-judgmental, I was sure that I was going to offend someone.