[NON BLOG] One Homeless Person
Jun. 13th, 2004 02:14 amI've read today about an unpleasant encounter that Claudia Drescher at Halfway Across the Danube had with a teenage street beggar in Bucharest.
The homeless in Ontario are much more visible than on Prince Edward Island. Even in Kingston, you can count on there being one or two hanging outside of the Shoppers Drug Mart downtown at the corner of Princess and Bagot. Venturing to Toronto back in January, and more recently this month and last month, I was surprised and saddened to see the homeless people around. (Interestingly, in January I saw quite a lot of hot dog vendors were living in their tents, huddled under blankets behind their counters at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning.)
There are homeless on Prince Edward Island, of course. At the very least, there are very poor people who beg money on the streets. A disturbingly high proportion are of native descent, perhaps on the order of a third or so of the total. (Fellow Islanders, help?) Considering that Mi'kMaq form only one half-percent of the Island's population, they're badly overrepresented.
One summer morning in 1998, as I was going into the Tim Horton's on Kent Street opposite the Confederation Court Mall, one homeless person sitting by the door asked me for money. I was vaguely aware that the man had a reputation for drinking, so I didn't give him any money. Rather, I bought him a coffee. He thanked me, and we began talking as we walked down Queen Street, onto the open area in front of the Confederation Centre Public Library.
He wasn't very coherent, I'm afraid; he had drunk too much over his lifetime, and had probably taken in too many substances of marginal drinkability, to be that. Even so, I enjoyed listening to him as he talked about his life: a brief survey of time at residential school; an anecdote about his participation in some sort of a First Nations theatrical event that was spoiled for him by his drinking, even then; his current despair. I got to work only slightly late.
I think he's dead now. It's a pity, since I enjoyed talking to him. I can't help but wonderwhat could have happened to make his life happier, and longer. At least he never showed any signs of wanting to spit in my face, though.
The homeless in Ontario are much more visible than on Prince Edward Island. Even in Kingston, you can count on there being one or two hanging outside of the Shoppers Drug Mart downtown at the corner of Princess and Bagot. Venturing to Toronto back in January, and more recently this month and last month, I was surprised and saddened to see the homeless people around. (Interestingly, in January I saw quite a lot of hot dog vendors were living in their tents, huddled under blankets behind their counters at 3 or 4 o'clock in the morning.)
There are homeless on Prince Edward Island, of course. At the very least, there are very poor people who beg money on the streets. A disturbingly high proportion are of native descent, perhaps on the order of a third or so of the total. (Fellow Islanders, help?) Considering that Mi'kMaq form only one half-percent of the Island's population, they're badly overrepresented.
One summer morning in 1998, as I was going into the Tim Horton's on Kent Street opposite the Confederation Court Mall, one homeless person sitting by the door asked me for money. I was vaguely aware that the man had a reputation for drinking, so I didn't give him any money. Rather, I bought him a coffee. He thanked me, and we began talking as we walked down Queen Street, onto the open area in front of the Confederation Centre Public Library.
He wasn't very coherent, I'm afraid; he had drunk too much over his lifetime, and had probably taken in too many substances of marginal drinkability, to be that. Even so, I enjoyed listening to him as he talked about his life: a brief survey of time at residential school; an anecdote about his participation in some sort of a First Nations theatrical event that was spoiled for him by his drinking, even then; his current despair. I got to work only slightly late.
I think he's dead now. It's a pity, since I enjoyed talking to him. I can't help but wonderwhat could have happened to make his life happier, and longer. At least he never showed any signs of wanting to spit in my face, though.