The People Behind My Eyes

Though I was homeless on and off through out my childhood I was rarely alone on the street. I was often cared for by an older homeless man. This man made sure that I was safe. He watched over me as I slept and kept his distance so that I knew I was even safe from him. On the coldest nights he wouldn’t hold me because he insisted that the physical boundary stood for safety. Many times people went by a different name on the street than the name they were given but he told me his real name, first and last. Charles lost his job and moved from Michigan to Indiana in hopes of finding a new job. he was under-educated and unable to keep a roof over his head. He ended up living on the street. He and I spent a lot of time together over the years, mostly in silence. We slept under a patch of bushes in the downtown area. He slept first and I watched over him then I slept as he watched. He’d wake me up for school and I’d get up and catch the city bus. When I got back “home” to the circle at the bushes there Charles and his yellow kitten Butter sat, waiting for me. he use to hold a sign up saying that if the state could afford to bring in the lottery they could afford to house the homeless. Charles and I made about $5 a day pan handling. He made nothing if I wasn’t sitting beside him. it took a young face for people to give. When people did give they threw it at us. They never even looked us in the eye, they just wadded up a few dollar bills and tossed it as us and kept on going. The good thing about getting that $5 was that it meant I could go to school and we could get those quarter hamburgers every Wednesday at McDonald’s. Back then McDonald’s had a quarter hamburger day. We loved Wednesday’s.

As I grew older he and I parted ways. I graduated from high school and moved away. I didn’t hear from him again though I thought about him often.

In 2001 I found myself back in the downtown area around the same homeless shelters I avoided as a child. I was a minor and if I went to those shelters I’d end up in juvenile hall as a run away or worse get sent back home. In the new apartment I was a hop skip and a jump from a shelter I actually stayed in. I walked by it just about everyday. One day I was driving by and saw a very dark skinned man that looked familiar. I told my friend to stop the car. I jumped out and ran up to this very unattractive, skinny short black man and introduced myself with my new name. He looked up at me with tired eyes and I knew he didn’t remember me. I remembered him though. He was the man that watched over me when I was 6 years old living on the street. It was Charles. He had a home, he was clean and healthy but he was tired looking. Back then he was in his 60’s which put him in his 90’s around 2001. I realized he was suffering from dementia but I felt indebted to him so it didn’t bother me that he didn’t remember me. But he himself had a face you could not forget.

I kept going by to visit and to help him out around his house until he died. He didn’t remember me at all and I never told him that I changed my name. I also never told him that when I changed my name it was only after looking at my ID that I realized my last name matched his. Charles Austin. When I first realized it I gasped then I burst into tears. It was almost like it was meant to be. He looked out for me when I needed it and I was blessed to be able to return the favor.

Every name means something. It represents something good or something bad but rarely are names just empty proper nouns assigned to us on a whim. When we assign a name to ourselves that name means even more. For me, it meant a new beginning. It meant that it was okay to leave behind the pattern that had been set for 6 generations. My new name meant freedom and I was overdue for some of that.

I do not, for one second, regret changing my name legally. I do not for one second regret the hard times I went through when I was shocked by the grief following the name change. I waited to do this to make sure I chose the right name. I’m convinced that I chose the right name because when I hear someone call me I do not shy away. I do not cower. I do not feel punched or immediately thought of as “a bad girl.” I don’t feel there is a horrible history attached to me simply because of the name I go by. That weight alone off my shoulders is huge. All that came with that birth name wasn’t gone but what was gone was having it shoved in my face every time I heard it. It let me hear the voice of healthy people instead of flashing back to old, unsafe times then coming back as if I hadn’t left for just a second. Changing my name was the healthiest thing I’ve ever done. Cutting myself off completely from that family was the second healthiest thing I’ve ever done.

So this is who I am now. It’s a name I chose to represent then, now and the future. It was my choice to change my name and where I came from there were few if any choices. Choices are one of the benefits of adulthood. I was blessed when I took advantage of and act on the legal right to change my name.

Segment links
Legal Name Change Part 1 of 3 Who Am I?
Legal Name Change Part 2 of 3 What Will I Be Called?
Legal Name Change Part 3 of 3 Karma

Childhood history entries:
Therapy Assignment-Turning Her Voice Down
Flawless
Re-Write History (September’s End)
These entries show how hard it is to think differently than how I was taught to think and feel

homelessness Technorati Tag

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