Found this article today and read it with my eyebrows practically in my hairline.

I think the point the author is trying to make is that you’d be surprised by what panhandlers spend their money on. And I admit, it worked – I was actually surprised.

Part of my problem is, I think, growing up in St. Albert. Everyone else who grew up in the Stalbert, how many homeless people did you actually see in the city? Hands? Anyone? I only ever remember seeing one – you know, that old guy whatsisname who used to hang around St. Albert High and bum cigarettes off the smokers.

But when I was younger, I remember going to Edmonton (or Toronto, or etc) with my parents and seeing lots of homeless. They’d hold out a hand – “Spare change?” – I’d put my hand in my pocket, and my mom would grab my jacket and pull me close to her. If I was walking on the inside edge of the sidewalk she’d drag me to the outside. “Don’t look at those people,” she’d whisper.

I’m not trying to say my parents were bad people or that they were trying to indoctrinate me against the homeless or something – it’s probably a Caribbean thing, and you have to keep in mind, my dad was so poor growing up that they ate songbirds and iguanas just to get by, and spent most of their childhood scrounging in the dump for food. They’re not anti-poor - but they always told me that homeless people would just spend the change on new ways to destroy themselves. Booze, cigarettes, drugs, etc. They also told me that if you gave money to street people that would make them just ‘want’ to stay on the streets instead of ‘getting a job.’ (I don’t even need to point out why that argument had no effect on me.)

So this article was really interesting to me. These folks are simply trying to get by and any of us are or will be (as we get older) a series of unfortunate coincidences away from sleeping hard. Sure, there are panhandlers who would take your money and go buy a bag (bottle? jar? bucket? no idea) of meth or crack, or kill themselves with plastic-bottle-brand vodka, maybe even a significant proportion – but I’m actually kind of inclined to think now that a lot of them would go buy more innocuous things. Deodorant. Food. Money for their celphone. A library card.

The thing is, I never give change because I can’t tell which panhandlers I’m helping to kill and which ones I might just be helping. I generally just donate to the United Way, specify no religious organizations, and hope for the best. Or I’ve given my doggie bag as I’ve left restaurants – that happened quite a lot in Calgary, I remember once coming out of a steak house downtown and almost tripping over a panhandler on the corner who said, “Spare change? Oh hey, or food?” and I swivelled without breaking stride and handed him the bag.

I’m reminded now, suddenly, of a night that a bunch of us in university were walking down Whyte Ave and a homeless guy shouted out to us for change. We all totally ignored him – didn’t even look, in fact – except for one friend, who stopped, stooped down, and was like, “Hey, man!” It turns out they knew each other from volunteering. They talked for a few minutes, my friend gave him a $20, and we kept going, in silence, to the club. I could barely see through a red haze of shame and confusion. I mean, nobody looked. None of us even reached for our purses. I guess it just goes to show that you never know who’s going to end up on the street – or what they’ll spend their money on once they’re there.

So I went to a faraway place and came back!

Too many memories to count, museums and galleries and restaurants and gardens, the stag party was the single most entertaining event I have ever attended in my life, the wedding ceremony was like a beautiful dream (a dream set in a crockpot, holy mackerel, talk about humidity), and the reception was full of love and jokes and pride and nostalgia and jazz and all sorts of stuff that I, with my cold ded interior, sucked in like a sponge.

No narration this time. Not even in chronological order. Kind of sad to be back home, I worry that I may have left my heart in Montreal.