Sweaty on the Street

Downtown yesterday, in Cincinnati, was muggy, humid.  The sun was unexpectedly warmer than it felt at home in my yard.  Two of my kids, a man cub and a girl in waiting to be a lady, walked over to the parking meter to print out a receipt to put in the windshield while I lagged behind taking in my surroundings.  I turned back toward them to see what was taking so long and saw a small family gathered around my kids, motioning to my son, holding out their five dollar bill for him to take.  They barely spoke english but they knew they needed that much; they just didn't know what to do with it.  "Take it, Solomon, and do it for them," I said, coming up behind him.  Bless that boy of mine.  He didn't want to make the man feel "stupid" so he hesitated.  No boy, no.  He's humbling himself.  He knows he's reached the end of knowing what to do.  He's asking for your help.  He's trusting you with his money.  See?  He's holding it out to you.

We walked on, and I continued to ponder that as the family thanked us and went to put their receipt in their car.  The streets were filled with people carrying folding chairs and making their way to the park for a concert; a concert that required money to enter the barricaded area that normally becomes a respite for the homeless.   They were still there.  Just sitting on the concrete blocks around the edge of the park.  We kept walking, unwilling to part with ten dollars just to sit on the grass when we could go there any other day for free.  I looked into the eyes of the ones clearly displaced and thought about how they were looking forward to the end of the weekend when the  barricades would be taken down and the park would be theirs again.

My kids and I grabbed a cold drink at Coffee Emporium, all manner of hipsters and interesting looking people who clearly felt at home there.  I always smile to myself how out of place I feel there and that I want to thank them for letting my middle aged self even be there.  Boy, girl and I decided it was much too hot for our taste and we started back to our car, parked by the Salvation Army building.  Always, there are people there that make me feel something in my gut.  This time was no different.  As my boy piled in the car and scrambled to get the a/c on high and freezing, I looked out the windshield towards the building.  There was a man, shiny black skin from sweat, lying on the ground sound asleep, three others leaning back tired and dirty looking, against the wall, their belongings in a small pile around them.

"I wonder," I said out loud...."what it would be like to not have a car with soft seats to get into and turn the air on?  To never have that even enter in as a possibility."

"Yeah...but...," began my boy.

"I know.  I know the 'yeah, buts'......I just can't stop thinking...whatever those are, those 'yeah, buts'....they're still human beings.  And I wish it were different for them.  And it hurts my heart so."