ON THE THINGS THAT DIVIDE AND SEPARATE

It seems for as long as there have been societies of people there have been talks of the poor, the haves and the have nots, talks which serve only to divide and separate us.

I have long had a heart for the poor. I walk in poor circles. I am the poor, falling within the national guidelines, my earnings are considered poverty level.

Still, I supported myself and two children for eight years alone, without help. A feat I am proud of.

Life took a turn for me and I find myself now back at home with my parents. My belongings in a storage unit, my entire world now occupying a room 16X18 feet squared, filled with the leftover bits and bobs of other people's lives.

I am ill. Not fatally so, but seriously, and I go to the community hospital for treatments and my father drives me.

A few weeks back, after my treatments, I got back into the car with my father and listened as he went on about the homeless people he had spent the morning observing. They seek refuge at the hospital. He talked about the waste of their lives, and the disgrace which is theirs for allowing their lives to come to such dire circumstance, and after he finished his speech, I could not stay silent.

"Dad, these people you are talking about, these people you hold in such poor regard, these people are me."

"How in the world can you say that?"

"It is the truth. Can you not see that?"

"You are nothing like these people, Pamela, nothing at all like them."

"Dad, the only thing standing between me and the streets, are you and mom."

"NO! That is not true!"

And though I did not have the heart to continue to argue with him, I knew he was wrong and I right.

The statistics are staggering.

One out of eight people in America are homeless. That's 35 million people.

1.4 million of those without homes are children.

Families with children are the fastest growing category of homeless making up 38% of it's population.

40% of homeless men have served in the US armed forces.

22% of the homeless have serious psychiatric disorders.

One out of three Americans not on the streets are living asset poor, which is to say they lack the assets to survive three months were they to lose their earning ability.

The majority of poor are working poor. Most work two and three jobs to try and get ahead, try to keep their heads above the water, and are like I was, quite literally, three paychecks away from the streets.

I make it a habit to connect with folks who view the world through a different lens than I, believing it is important to stay aware of the other side, to meet regularly with those who hold vastly different views from my own, and the attitude I hear over and over again pertaining to the poor among us is one of disdain, like my father, a mindset that says they must have done something to deserve it, and I get it, get their need to say this. It is two fold I think.

First, if we blame the poor for their plight it leaves us free to continue our lives uninterrupted and unaffected. If we actually saw the problem and acknowledge it, we might then be compelled to do something about it, and we are, after all, leading very busy, productive lives. We made good choices. WE have OUR shit together.

Secondly, if we stopped and acknowledged that perhaps many of our poor, our homeless, are people just like us, hard-working, blue-collared, family-valued people who, by no fault of their own, find their lives up-ended, then we must accept the fact that this too could happen to us, and if we were to accept this fact suddenly life gets very serious and cold. It is easier to believe that if one takes steps A,B, and C, one gets to D and avoids E, F, and G. The illusion of control brings comfort. I fully understand that, however, this is a comfort I firmly believe our nation can no longer afford to hold.

It has become impossible for me to sit smiling when I hear someone say, no workie no eatie. It is glib. It is arrogant. It is a dangerous and ignorant mind set.

Since I was fifteen-years-old I have worked for money. I have never been without a job of some sort except for the last three months of my pregnancy with my daughter and the last four with my son, due to complications which required me to be on bed rest . For the past ten years, I've worked two jobs and went to school, so please, do not talk to be about hard work. I know hard work. I know days that start at two am and end at ten or eleven pm, going from job one, to job two, and then on to job three, raising two kids the best I could in all my spare time.

Save your glib arrogance for the country club crowd and come take a walk with me, let me show you the women I know, women just like myself who want the best for their kids. Who get up everyday and work long. hard hours, taking them away from their kids in the early morning hours and returning them late at night, their bodies tired and sore and not enough hours left to get the proper amount of sleep before their lives require them to rise and do it all over again. Come and sit at my friends' table, share a cup of coffee and some hard truths with them, then look into their faces and repeat, no workie no eatie.

Go ahead.

I dare you.

The cold hard facts are 1.4 million of our nations children will fall asleep in a car, in a shelter, or on the streets tonight.

What will you do about it?

SURVIVING THE AMERICAN DREAM

by Pamela Black

Credit

won't get me far,

living

out of a car,

dreaming

under the stars,

smothered by poverty

No one

can see my pain,

make-up

helps hide its shame,

lifetime

of dirty stains,

painted by poverty.

Paying

for others' crimes,

knocked down

too many times,

trying

to toe the lines,

laid down by poverty.

Good life

now there's a game,

surviving

is not the same,

trying

to just stay sane,

choking on poverty.

Rebirth

the preacher said,

tired

of lies I'm fed,

fresh starts

are all but dead,

drowning in poverty.