Writing the Self 3: A First Time Encounter

It is such a beautifully warm and sunny afternoon in Saskatoon today I think to myself as I walk alongside my auntie. I have always loved how different and exciting this city is in comparison to Regina, looking at every shop I see on the way to the store walking outside of the mall. The small plaza is shaded by trees and a slight wind blows through the air; it really is such a beautiful day all around. We are making our way to a store that my auntie thinks I would enjoy. I see many people coming in and out of stores that I have both seen and never heard of before, and just as we are coming up to go past Lululemon, I see a man sitting against the wall just past the building. This man, it appears, is homeless.

Throughout my life I have heard the sayings “there are people starving” when not wanting to finish my food, “some people don’t have a roof over their head like you” during times I might not have taken care of my things, and “there are people who don’t get to have any of the things you do”. As much as these words have really made me think of what I am fortunate to have, the real shock of my advantage in socioeconomic status came to me when I first witnessed an example of this in real life. I continue to keep close to my auntie moving in his direction but as we get closer to him, I am unsure of how to act around this man. He is not any older than my parents I am sure, though he is quite obviously not in his best shape right now. I am only able to see the man briefly as we make our way past him without saying a word, making me fail to see all of him and focus more on trying to understand what he says while we walk by. Just after we pass him my auntie looks at me and says, “He is there all of the time, speaks French”, and just like that my question is answered. Well, maybe not all of my questions.

It only takes us a few more minutes to get to the store after passing the unknown man and I think of the fast encounter every second of the walk. I wonder why the man is left with no home and how he could have gotten where he is, where he lived when or if he did ever have a home, what he was asking people for, and I ponder the question as to whether or not anybody will help him fix his life so he can live just as my family does someday. With all of these questions, I think back to the things that I have had said to me about how lucky I am to live the way that I do and know that these are all very true in this moment. As a member of a middle-class family, I get to go home every night and know that I am safe and have everything and more that I might need to keep me from never being in such a situation. Stepping into the store, I think of him one last time, wondering where he might be staying tonight.