A Bit Of Warmth On A Cold Winter Night

I grew up in a rather slummy neighbourhood in Toronto called Regent Park. At the time, all my relatives lived in government subsidized housing, but not us. Oh no, my family of four lived in a luxuriously small one-bedroom apartment. At nights, before I fell asleep, I used to watch the cockroaches crawl up the wall next to my bunkbed.

Down the street and around the corner was a gentlemen's club, and across the street was an old church meets soup kitchen meets homeless shelter. On some mornings, when I walked out of our building I used to see men sleeping on the grates by the front doors. I distinctly remember trying to talk to them one time and my parents pulled me away and told me not to. I also remember not understanding why. I asked who they were and no one answered me.

I wonder sometimes if my living where I did when I was young (and spending so much time in Toronto when I was older) could have desensitized me to homelessness because I saw it so often, as a part of my daily life. Instead, maybe it influenced my heightened sensitivity to the issue. Maybe it was because I studied sociology in school. Maybe it's because I've travelled to some very poor places in the world. Maybe it's because I recently got to know someone who works in housing vulnerable populations. Either way. I can't pinpoint when it started, but every winter, when I step outside into that frigid air, I can't stop thinking about it. About them, out there in the cold.

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Dear Terry,

I don't know if you remember me. I met you last Saturday night, when my friend Dan and I were walking to a cafe after a concert. You approached us asking for change. To be honest, I'm actually really glad that I didn't have any change on me, because that meant that we got to spend some more time together. You hesitated for a second, but I'm glad you decided to come to the cafe with us after all.

In retrospect, I should have gotten you something in addition to the coffee. You said you didn't want tea or hot chocolate or soup, but I feel like maybe you would have wanted a sandwich, or a bagel, or something. I couldn't tell if you were hungry, and I don't like to make assumptions, but I should have just bought something anyway. I couldn't tell if you felt uncomfortable either - I asked as many questions as I did because I wanted to make the atmosphere a little lighter, a little warmer, because it was so bitterly cold that night. I wondered how warm your coat was, how long you had been wandering the streets for...

You spent a while putting cream and sugar into your coffee and during those few minutes I must have stopped myself from asking you to stay and sit with us a dozen times. After you left, I smacked myself upside the head for actually not asking you to stay. I should have, I really should have. I suppose I didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, but then I thought to myself that I'm not really one for social customs anyways, so who cares? Your coffee would have stayed warmer for longer.

I meant it when I said that it was nice to meet you, because it was. I really meant it when I said to take care, because I hope you do.

Until next time. Stay warm Terry.
11:35 pm