No one knows his name, but everyone around here knows him on sight. He is shorter than I am, maybe 5'6" with graying hair and a beard that looks more like he's simply forgotten to shave for several days than a true attempt to keep a beard. His eyes are this pale grey color that, while expressive, always seems to look vacant.
Everyday America asks men and women to stand up to protect and serve our great nation. These men and women do this by joining one of the four armed forces. Whether it was voluntary or involuntary these men and women have risked there lives for the United States of America. I have chosen to write about the veterans for this reason.
...a college student.
...a older sister.
...a family member of someone battling Cervical Cancer.
...a homeless youth.
...a child of divorce.
...a daughter and victim of an abusive father.
...a lesbian.
...Me.
I'm on vacation in San Francisco, California right now. Luckily, there's free Internet in the hotel, so I can share this blog entry with you all.
You are fifteen and you are in love. You are all the things a fifteen-year-old usually is when in love. You are wide-eyed and hopeful. You are single-minded and not to be convinced that he is not The One. You are also terrified, cold, lost, and confused, because up until tonight, when you felt you would burst if you didn’t tell someone how you feel about him, you had a home. But then you told your parents that you are head over heels in love with another boy. Now you live on the street.
It was a cold night in November. There I lie, huddled up in my car hoping that I wouldn't run out of gas before morning. I would turn my car off anytime I woke up for thirty minutes or so, or at least until I started to shiver. I couldn't wait until summer, when I could sleep under the stars knowing that at least I wouldn't freeze to death.
Naturally, if I came upon a blog entry about a real-life homeless person, I’d have certain expectations. I would immediately think that blog would be an enlightening look into the hardships of a homeless person, or a tale of how such an unfortunate person is a good person in a bad position.
This is not one of those tales.
I know it's easy to make judgmental statements about homeless people:
Get a job.
They brought it on themselves.
Why should I contribute a quarter to someone's drug habit?
Generalizations don't make for very good arguments in other situations; why should it be any different for the homeless population?
