Repost - Last Penny, First Meal

Repost - Last Penny, First Meal

Sitting alone, he reached into his pocket and found a coin. Pulling it out, it was just an old penny. Pennies meant nothing any more, but he thought he’d keep it anyway. Kind of a keepsake now that Canada wasn’t making them anymore. And it truly was his last penny. His once shiny shoes were dusty and his wrinkled suit was dusty as his shoes. He was tired after a long day walking the streets. ‘Pounding the pavement' that’s what his dad used to call it. The offers of handouts, he was sorry he hadn’t taken. He was hungry - his stomach tight and sunken. He had been so sure that today would be the day he would find a job - a job that lasted. He had done a one time stint the day before at a restaurant washing dishes so he at least got fed a good meal. The sun was warm. The streets were quiet - everyone home. Home for supper, with a family. Living on the streets was so foreign to him. He didn’t belong with those folks gathered around the fire in the park after dark. He didn’t belong in the line ups at the soup kitchens. He shook his head. How had he gotten here? He’d heard his own story told many times - but it was at the water cooler or over dinner with a friend - and then it was always about someone else. Someone with no name or no face. He hadn’t learned how to survive without a pay cheque. Those lineups were filled with laughter, arguments or flat blank stares. He just didn’t belong there. He had had a good upbringing - sure there were arguments and dissatisfaction but it was just normal stuff. He followed his big brother through school always trying to keep up to him. He played a lot of sports. He got a good education that got him a good job. Almost even got married, but she found her career more important than having a family with him. That was OK. That’s kind of what women were expected to do.  

Then the company he was with went bankrupt. He didn’t know all the details, just that he was out of a job. Done. In a city far from any of his family or anyone he knew.

“Hey buddy. What are you just settin’ there for? Don’t you know it’s time to eat?”

An old fellow with a long fuzzy white beard and a long white braid had stopped in front of him. His clothes were neat and clean, but completely mismatched. The young man smiled at himself for the judgments tumbling through his head.

“I’m not sure I’m all that hungry, but thanks. My name is Steve.” He automatically reached out his hand in greeting. “Well I suppose I could eat a little bit. Do you mind if I join you? I haven’t a chance to visit with anyone all day. Been looking for work. By the way, how do you people survive out here? I’m between jobs and am getting back on my feet.”

“Sure, Steve, come on with me and I’ll introduce you to the folks that run this here kitchen. There’s a buncha pamphlets that’ll tell you all kinda things. Where meals are, job info, somethin’ called resume writing and how to get a clean room for the night - if you’re quick.  My name is Joe and I kinda talk a lot but I’ll try to slow down a bit. Here we are.”

Joe greeted a few of his friends with laughs, back slaps and gently for some ‘How’re you doin’ today?” Embarrassed, Steve stayed close, and was introduced around. 

“Steve, I finally got me a place to live but I keep my feet down here so I can spot you young fellas that need a guide. I can show you good and bad. Point out those folks to stay away from and those that are real helpers. Did you ever learn that in all your schools and jobs? Livin’ on the street you get to feel the sun and the rain. That’s good. Livin’ on the street, you can’t lock your doors - that’s bad.

“I’d never thought of those things I’ve been doing what I thought I should be doing - until now. But there’s no manual for suddenly being homeless with no money. The money I made at my jobs, I spent as fast as I made it. I guess it’s time to learn about surviving on my own wits and learn what’s important to me.

“Yep. You can be angry and feel sorry for y’self. Or you can come on with me and have supper. There’s some real learnin’ to be done here if you’re willin’ to be humble and ask for help.”

The young man still didn’t feel like he belonged but the old man had spoken to him as an elder to a child, all the while walking him to his first meal in a homeless shelter.

“People who are homeless are not social inadequates.

They are people without homes.”

~ Sheila McKechnie

Authors Note: 

First written May 16, 2013

Minor Editing November 19, 2023