“Homeless” is a harsh word.  The reality of homelessness is so much more harsh than anything I’ve been through.   But my reality was certainly harsh enough.  At first.

A few months ago, the adult son of a good friend of mine came home to Chapel Hill, North Carolina for a visit.  The kid is about the same age as my only child.  The kid’s parents gave him a safe and secure place to stay for a couple of days, cooked for him his favorite and most comfortable dishes, washed his clothes and, on the kid’s way out of town, stopped by the Food Lion and loaded down the back seat of his car with Mom and Pop groceries.  This is what parents do.

A couple of days later, my son came home, too.  My son came home to move his dad out of his rented home before the sheriff could padlock his apartment.

That reality was harsh. 

In a Lunar Report from last June, I wrote, “I have fallen down quite a bit all these years.  Frankly, I hope I keep falling.  The more I fall, the more good things that come along to ‘get me back up.’"  Maybe I should be more careful about what I hope for, huh?   

Then again, maybe not.

I am a terrible “roommate.”  I’ve taken in a couple of guys over the past few years.  These were guys who, like me so recently, just needed a safe haven for a while from the cold and darkness of uncertain circumstances.  Another time, I shared my place with a good friend of mine who shared rent and expenses with me for a while.  Then there was the was the love of my life who moved in with me for what should have been the beginning of a long and wonderful life together.  In all four instances, I lost control of things and sight of what‘s important.  At first I was the champion and the hero, helping a couple of friends and being open and gracious to the others.  Yeh, I was a champion, alright.  In every case, I reverted back to the self-absorbed and space-protective little jerk I have always been.  Oh, I justified my reactions as only I can.  And in each case, I ultimately did what was best for the relationships - or that’s how I convinced myself of my worth.  Very shortly after each reversion, each of my four roommate experiments ended.  And, for the most parts, they each ended badly.

I’m not sure if those experiences were just cause for me to find myself where I have.  I would argue that they were.  But just or not, I learned from my latest fall.  I learned the right and true way to deal with folks who just need a place to rest their head some times.  It’s easy to learn such things when you happen to be the one with the weary head.  It’s even easier to learn when your teachers are who mine were.

My teachers were four old college friends and my son.  My son helped me move at a time when every minute of his day was otherwise occupied with working, being a husband, a father to three and going to school.  My guess is that when one’s dad is being evicted, it is a troubling matter to the child.  If it was troubling to him, he hid it well.  It seemed easy for him.  He asked no questions.  He passed no judgments.  He was simply a strong friend when a weak old man needed one the most.

Three of my old friends and new teachers didn’t seem too interested in my problems.  All three of them interrupted me and stopped me dead in my tracks when I tried to explain things to them. 

Me:  “Look, I have an old cat, and I’m being evicted.  Would you….”

First friend:  “Want me to keep your cat?  I’d love to!”


Me:  “I have to move out of my place, and I was wondering…”

Second friend:  “Come stay here for a while!  I’ll clear out closet and drawer space.  There’s food here, and I will leave out a bowl of quarters for you to use for laundry.  Look in every closet and drawer and take what you need.”
This is the same friend whose son came home for a visit, home-cooking, clean clothes and a Food Lion haul


Me: “You have an extra bedroom, and I was…”

Third friend:  “Man, tell me what you need.  You will find it here.  Leave your dirty clothes in the hall, and I will wash them.  What kind of food do you eat?  You’ll have dinner when you finish your work each day.”

Circumstances or explanations didn’t matter to these guys.  To none of them.  Only solutions mattered.  And the only solutions on their minds were ones that could make life a bit easier for an old friend.

The fourth friend was there from the beginning.  He didn’t interrupt.  He just listened and supported me those times when I was crumbling emotionally.  And he lifted me.  My first few nights without a home were spent with this friend.  That’s where I needed to be those nights.  And this friend was one of my ill-fated roommates from years before.  Imagine that.

Yeh. I learned a great deal.

For other friends and family who read this, there is no need for worry.  I am working two regular jobs and there is other work as well.  I have my own place again.  Most importantly, my new perspective is fresh and strong and so very real.

A few weeks ago, I was with some old friends who came to town for a reunion.  One of them, when he learned of things with me, said, “You know, you have some good friends.  We could have certainly come up with your rent.”  I know that.  And I know there are family members who feel the same.  My answer to my friend is the same I would give to family who might suggest the same. 

“I knew you had my back.  Knowing you were there to catch me when I really fall is all I needed to get through all of this.”

The fact is, I didn’t fall at all.  I couldn’t do that.  Not with these guys around.  And there are some folks who need to know some truths.  Please indulge me here.

At my grandfather’s funeral in the mid-’70’s, several people came up to me and told me how that man had helped them so much over the years.  The same thing happened at the funeral of my dad in 1982.  I remember thinking to myself both times, “Man, I wish I had heard this before now.”  I loved both men, but I never really understood exactly how they were perceived by others.  Perception is important to me.  Especially when it comes to life’s deeds. I guess it's hard sometimes for folks to admit failure by acknowledging  the kindness that saw them through such times.

Well, to Jessica.  Your dad carried me through some hard times.  So has your mom.  They are everyone’s best friends.

To Michael.  Your dad made me feel more at home than my family ever has, and my family has done an outstanding job.  And he gave me food, shelter and work.

To Adam.  Your dad took me in, washed my clothes, fed me and asked nothing in return.  And when I tried to contribute, he rebuffed me.  Pride for that man must fill your heart.

To all three - your folks make a difference.  Every day.  I can attest to that.  You are proud of them, I know.  Be prouder.

They are real and true.

And those realities are anything but harsh.